


find your way by moonlight

by blackkat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Angst, Bloodplay, Dogs fix everything, F/F, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue Missions, Strong Dub-Con Warning, Unhealthy Relationships, again relating to the MadaObi, and sex, and so do hugs, can't have vampires without at least some bloodplay, kind of, relating to the MadaObi, the shitty vampire au no one wanted, what am I doing oh my god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-12-12 13:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 130,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11737710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: "You lied to me,” Kakashi says.Obito immediately snarls. “Fuck you, I never lied!” he spits. “Just because you’re such a bad Hunter you can’t even figure out when a fucking vampire is right in front of you—”“In my defense,” Kakashi says mildly, “you seem like you’re a pretty terrible vampire, honestly.”





	1. Two crowned Kings, and One that stood alone

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:**
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>  
> 
>  
> 
> The Madara/Obito relationship requires a _strong_ dub-con warning - the power dynamics are very one-sided, and though Obito never quite says no and does enjoy the sex, he is also aware that he probably couldn't say no and have it listened to. Madara is a massive asshole, what else is new. 
> 
>  
> 
> Story title comes from an Oscar Wilde quote: "A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." The chapter titles are from Wilde's poem _A Vision_.

Obito wakes to the weight of a body sprawled across his back, the feeling of twilight outside the room’s thick walls, and a lurching, spinning vertigo that hits him the minute he opens his eye. Nausea isn’t a common reaction anymore, not with his body, but as he swallows he thinks this might be one of the rare times he actually wants to throw up.

“You bastard,” he growls, trying to elbow the body on top of him. “How fucking much did you _take_?”

Madara, of course, is already awake, and he makes a sound of contemptuous amusement at the attempt to shift him, grabbing Obito's wrist and pinning it to the mattress. He leans forward, long hair spilling around them, and carefully, deliberately presses his mouth to the nape of Obito's neck. Needle-sharp teeth scrape the skin, and Obito twitches, has to remind himself to stay still and not reach for a weapon.

“Enough to keep you out of trouble,” Madara tells him, darkly satisfied. Another press of fangs, just hard enough to make Obito stiffen and jerk before he can stop himself, and Madara laughs, low and smug. He moves, sliding in between Obito's thighs and pressing them apart, then covering his back completely, and Obito closes his eye at the feel of his cock sliding across his entrance, still slick and stretched from earlier.

“Get off,” he says, halfhearted, because there’s nothing on earth that will move Madara before he wants to. “Bastard, you already drained me.”

Madara snorts, leaning in to mouth at the earring in Obito's left ear. He tugs on the silver hoop just enough for Obito to feel the pull, then says, “Obviously not, if you can still complain.”

Obito jerks at the wrist Madara is still holding. “That wasn’t an invitation to finish the job, so get the fuck off—ah!”

Long, sharp teeth sink into his throat at the same time Madara pushes into his body, hips rocking in long, slow thrusts as he presses his canines deeper. With a groan, Obito closes his eye, automatically relaxing back into Madara's hold, and Madara makes a low, pleased sound. He withdraws his fangs, wrapping an arm around Obito's waist and dragging him up and back as he sits up, and Obito sinks down on the hard, hot cock invading his body with a whimper, fingers closing convulsively over Madara's arm, tight as a steel band around him.

“Bastard,” he breathes, but he’s been half-hard since he woke up, regardless of how his head is spinning, and between the fucking and the biting he’s fully erect now.

Madara chuckles in his ear, so disgustingly smug all Obito wants to do is punch him in the face. Sliding them around, he presses Obito up against the headboard, and the moment Obito braces himself against the wood Madara gets a hand under his chin, tilting his head back to mouth at his throat. “If you can still talk to me like that, clearly I haven’t taken enough yet,” he murmurs, fingers clamping down when Obito tries to jerk away. Obito can't help the sharp, desperate sound that tears from him, the way he shoves back into Madara's next rolling thrust, nowhere near deep enough to satisfy.

“Brat,” Madara tells him, laughing breathlessly, and the snap of his hips all but hurls Obito forward before he can lock his arms, pushing back. There's breath on his neck, just enough of a warning for Obito to brace himself, and then Madara bites him. Obito _keens_ , heat flooding through his veins as Madara takes a long, deliberate pull, and it feels like his mouth is attached to every nerve in Obito's body. He barely registers the sharp, bruising thrusts that all but slam him into the headboard, entire body consumed by the fire spreading from the bite outward. Madara inside him is pleasure and ache and sparks of sensation that tingle hard and hot through him, but each mouthful of blood Madara takes is concentrated, mind-numbing ecstasy that tumbles him right over the edge without pause.

Obito hates losing control, hates being overwhelmed like this. Hates Madara, for making him crave each moment of this. Hates himself, for never being able to resist.

When the world steadies, Madara's thrusts are slowing, back to rocking twists of his hips that make Obito gasp, clenching down on his softening shaft. There's more wetness spreading inside of him, and Madara isn’t drinking anymore, even if his teeth are still buried in Obito's neck. He hums, low and sated, and Obito whimpers as it reverberates through him. Somehow, one of his hands in tangled in Madara's hair, holding his head in place, and there's come painted across his stomach and thighs from his own release.

Carefully, maddeningly gentle, Madara eases his fangs free, drags his tongue across the mark that’s hot and painful like a bruise. His grip softens, and he cradles Obito against his chest, tipping his head back to rest on his shoulder again. It’s not a comfortable position, and Obito hates the utter vulnerability of it, but this is the greatest surrender he can offer. This is what Madara demands of him, more than blood and a willing body to fuck—loyalty and submission, in all things.

Obito hates him so much it burns like acid in his veins, and loves him just the same.

 With a low chuckle, Madara presses a kiss to the line of his jaw and murmurs, “Far less of a brat when I'm inside of you, it seems. Good boy.”

The praise pulls an involuntary whine from Obito's throat, and he shivers, pressing back into Madara's touch.

(Hells, Obito hates _himself_ for this, far more than he does Madara.)

Madara hums, mock-soothing, and ghosts his fingers down Obito's side. He grips his thigh, pushing up lightly, and Obito obediently lifts himself off Madara's lap, letting the older man pull out and spill him forward onto the bed. A possessive hand runs down his back, over his ass, and Obito closes his eye and tries not to let himself tremble under the touch.

“Up,” Madara tells him, amusement just barely covering a warning. “I'm done with you, brat.”

The rush of endorphins is fading, and the vertigo is even worse now, but Obito groans and gets his arms under himself, pushing up to sit. His head is spinning, and he gets his feet on the floor but hardly even manages to straighten before he’s crumpling with a gasp, a desperate grip on the sheets the only thing keeping him from pitching forward as he lands hard on his knees.

From above him, there's a snort, and Obito grits his teeth. _I will not take a torch to my Sire_ , he repeats to himself. _I will not try to set him on fire_ again _, because it didn’t work the first time._

Hells, but he wishes it had.

Still, Obito is nothing if not a stubborn asshole, and he forces himself back to his feet by dint of sheer willpower. “Fuck you, this is _your_ fault,” he spits.

Madara makes a sound of pure boredom, sprawled out across the bed on his back with his mass of hair an artful tangle around him. “Next time don’t keep me waiting so long and I won't be so hungry.” He dismisses Obito's words with a wave of one hand, then cracks open one red-and-black eye, a smirk spreading over his face as he sweeps a look up and down Obito's body. “You have only yourself to blame.”

“I was doing what _you_ _told me to_!” Obito snaps, outraged, and manages not to fall on his face when he leans down to pick up his jeans, even if it’s a near thing. “If I’d abandoned my job to come running back, you would have called me—”

“A little whore, eager to spread his legs and bare his throat?” Madara says, sly. “You're that as well, you know. Playing hard to get doesn’t change that.”

Obito locks his jaw to keep from spitting the retort that’s on the tip of his tongue, but the spike of fury that lances through him isn’t the sort of thing he can hide. He knows Madara sees it, and that it amuses him, and that just makes it _worse_. With a low growl, he wipes himself down with a corner of the sheet, then drags on his pants and his tank top, ignoring the way Madara's gaze lingers. He’s always known the bastard wants him; he wouldn’t even be here if Madara didn’t.

“Don’t you have better things to be doing than exercising your assholery?” he demands waspishly.

“Better than playing with you? Of course not.” Madara smirks at him, and adds, “If you're going to wear that out, make sure Fugaku sees you. His expressions are always the best.”

Obito blinks, then looks down at the jacket in his hand. It’s heavy velvet brocade, threaded through with ostentatious gold, and not something Obito would ever be caught wearing, alive or undead or anywhere in between. Making a face, he drops it back to the floor, then grabs his leather jacket from where it’s lying under the bed and pulls it on.

“Hells forbid Fugaku actually want you to _do your job_ instead of spending all your time draining your own vampires and being a gigantic _tool_ ,” he snaps, and he’s not fond of Fugaku, who’s practically made looking down his nose at Madara's other Children a competitive sport, but he understands the older man’s frustrations perfectly.

Shadows shift, and before Obito can even register the movement Madara has a hand clamped around his jaw. There's an arm around his waist, Madara's mouth against his throat, and Obito wrenches backwards even though he already knows it won't do any good. Madara doesn’t budge, just drags the flat of his tongue up Obito's pounding pulse, laves at the skin over the bruised bite and scrapes it lightly with his fangs.

“Maybe I should take a little more, given how well you're still mouthing off to me,” Madara taunts, and Obito forces himself to stillness, tries not to swallow even though there's no way Madara can miss the fear that’s setting his heart to racing. “If I fuck you over the bed again, drink another pint or so, maybe you’ll be more compliant then.”

“You're the one who told me to get out,” Obito says tightly, but he would let Madara do it. He even _wants_ it, regardless of the sick pounding in his skull and the nausea sitting heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Madara snorts softly, sliding his hand down to cup Obito's cock through his jeans, and Obito thanks every bit of fortune that he’s too dizzy to get hard. Not that that’s ever stopped Madara when he really wants to make a point, but this time he just makes a vaguely dissatisfied sound and lets Obito go. “I did,” he agrees. “Go make trouble somewhere else, brat. And be sure you feed—I’ll expect you back here by Monday at the very latest.”

Monday. That’s three nights free, and Obito isn’t so caught up in his anger that he can't take the reprieve. Stumbling back, he grabs his boots and doesn’t even pause long enough to pull them on, just hurries for the door.

Another twist of shadows catches him with his hand on the knob, and Obito's back slams into the metal as a hungry mouth slants over his, the kiss deep and devouring. Obito arches into it before he can stop himself, opens to Madara and lets the taste of his own blood wash over his tongue as Madara pushes in, licks into his mouth and scrapes fangs over his lips, overwhelms him in the space of a heartbeat.

Then Madara pulls back, pale skin flushed with stolen blood, lips red, eyes glowing. He’s beautiful, intoxicating like the worst kind of drug, and Obito loves him horrifically, recklessly, hatefully.

Another brief, bruising kiss, and Madara cups Obito's face in his hand, presses his mouth to Obito's brow in mockery of a benediction. “Don’t get yourself staked,” he says, like he _cares_.

“Do your work and don’t slack off, old man,” Obito manages to get out, and pretends he doesn’t see the fond curve of Madara's lips before he throws the door open and ducks out into the hallway. It falls shut behind him with a heavy thud, and Obito staggers another few steps before he has to catch himself on the stone of the wall, breathing carefully.

Damn, but Madara took more than he normally does. Maybe it was retaliation for missing one of their regular feedings, or maybe he was just feeling testy. Maybe Obito managed to get under his skin more than normal, though he rather doubts that. Madara is capricious at best, but for the most part every insult Obito spits at him he just brushes off.

Pressing a hand over the throbbing bite, Obito winces, and tells himself he’ll come back a little early this time, even if it means cutting his free nights short. Better to face the regular bastard Madara than the hungry leech who had him last night. Coming back before the deadline might please Madara, and it’s worth a few sacrifices to keep him happy. The ache running through Obito's body right now proves that much.

Forcing himself up, he takes one look at the snapped laces of his boots, rolls his eye, and slings them over his shoulder to deal with when there’s more distance between himself and Madara. Barefoot, he ghosts up the hallway, out into the light of Madara's audience chamber. It’s empty right now, the ridiculous throne cast into sharp focus by the light on it. A few people have already gathered, though Madara doesn’t usually emerge until well after midnight and it’s only just dusk. Several of them cast looks at Obito, but he ignores them pointedly, sinking down on one of the benches along the wall and inspecting his boots.

“Salvageable?” a cheerful voice asks, and a large shape settles beside him, leaning against the wall. He’d tower over Obito even if he wasn’t standing, and Obito has to crane his neck as he looks up, up, up into Kisame's grinning face.

“Only just,” Obito says wryly, knotting the laces back together as best he can and then dragging the shoes on. If he’s going out, he’s definitely not doing it barefoot. Vampires can’t exactly catch diseases, but Obito is fairly certain that even for him, walking through the city barefoot is tempting fate.

Kisame chuckles, and while the humor reaches his eyes, it can't completely blot out the worry that’s there, too. “You're looking paler than normal, kid.”

“I'm older than you, you know,” Obito retorts, rolling his eye. “Just because Lord Stick-Up-His-Ass calls me _brat_ doesn’t mean I actually am one.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you look it.” Kisame shrugs easily, though the expression on his face says he didn’t miss how Obito failed to answer the almost-question. “Going out?”

Obito nods, pushing carefully to his feet again. “I need to hunt.” It’s as close to an answer as he can give, with other people near enough to overhear. There's insubordination and then there's just plain suicide, and while Obito likes to walk the line, he knows not to air Madara's personal matters in public. That’s one lesson he learned a long time ago, and learned well.

With a chuckle, Kisame slings an arm over his shoulders, and most people might miss the way he’s practically holding Obito up. “I was going to head to the river,” he says cheerfully. “Want a ride?”

Obito can't help his quiet snort. “You're just trying to get named the local cryptid, aren’t you?” he asks with amusement, and doesn’t protest when Kisame steers him away from the glitter and gold of those hopeful for Madara's favor, back towards the workers’ areas instead.

Kisame's grin is full of sharp teeth. “There’s this one kid, always hangs around down by the bridge stoned out of his mind. I like the way he screams.”

Of course he does. Obito rolls his eye, but he’s smiling. Kisame is always the perfect break from Madara's bullshit, because he doesn’t take himself too seriously. “Kid like a teenager, and I should make sure no one picks you up for stalking a minor? Or kid like you're going to ask him out on a date in the near future when you get bored making him piss himself?”

“Yeah,” Kisame says cheerfully, and Obito gives up on getting an answer. At the very least, Kisame can take care of himself, and until more than the tabloids start running stories about sharks in the Nakano, Obito is going to assume everything is under control.

They're halfway to the garage on the far side of the complex before Kisame breaks the easy silence again. Obito trips on a bit of protruding stone, and it’s only Kisame's hand that keeps him upright when his knees buckle completely. Obito would flush if he had the blood to spare, but most of his attention is consumed by not throwing up as the world lurches violently around him.

“You know,” Kisame says, and his tone is light but the words are anything but, “I can barely even tell you're one of Madara's right now.”

Obito makes a face, but as reluctant as he is to admit it, Kisame is right. Madara took enough that he’s running on fumes, and he’s not optimistic about his chances against a determined human right now, let alone another supernatural creature.

“Madara's an ass,” he says, since they're alone in the hall. His voice is more resigned than he intended, but he doesn’t try to take the words back. They're absolutely true. “He got pissy about me being gone so long, that’s all. I’ll be fine once I feed.”

Kisame hums like he doesn’t quite believe it, and he reaches out, lightly touching the burning bite on Obito's neck, then rising to brush what are probably bruises where Madara grabbed his jaw. He still doesn’t say anything, just pulls Obito fully upright with an arm around his waist and says, “You're wearing a helmet.”

“I'm _fine_!” Obito protests testily, because he’s drained, not _human_ , but Kisame drags him over to his bike and digs around in the sidecase for a moment before turning and dropping a battered black helmet on Obito's head. When he looks like he’s going to do up the buckles himself, Obito makes a sound of annoyance and swats his fingers away. “Are you a shark or hen?” he demands.

Kisame just chuckles, grinning widely. “If you get killed in a motorcycle accident, Madara will make me into boots,” he says, and the cheer of the words doesn’t detract from the truth of them, unfortunately.

Obito doesn’t want to think about Madara, though, not when the next three nights are his completely. “Let’s go,” he says instead, and as soon as Kisame swings his leg over the back of the bike, he climbs up behind him, wrapping his arms around the shapeshifter’s waist. The bike purrs to life beneath them, and a moment later they're headed up the ramp and out of the garage, into the twilight air that smells of humid earth and old forest. The road back to the highway is short but winding, cutting through the massive trees, and Obito catches flashes of jewel-bright eyes in the fading light as they pass, but doesn’t look back. Only forward, to where the forest road meets pavement, and pavement quickly merges with asphalt.

Kisame sends them racing forward the moment they hit the highway, cutting sideways across three lanes of traffic and then weaving through the evening press. The roar of the wind whipping by is too loud for talking, almost too loud for thinking, and Obito likes it that way, keeps his eyes trained ahead of them. There's a long rise, a hill the pulls away from the mountainous land behind them, and as they hit the crest Konoha opens up in front of them, already starting to glow with lights as the sun drops further behind the peaks.

The rush of cars passing is a little too much, though, the smell of exhaust and heated metal clogging Obito's nose, and he leans forward, presses his forehead to the broad expanse of Kisame's back and closes his eye, focusing on his breathing. It helps a little, gives him a bit of his focus back. He _really_ needs to feed, and maybe it would have been smarter to find a donor in the compound, but he’d just needed so badly to get _away_.

Madara has spent the last fifty years twisting him up into knots of hatred and terror and devotion, and the few moments Obito can snatch for himself outside of his court are the only bits of freedom he has.

The sudden jerk of a speedbump makes Obito look up to find them slowing, following the curve of a drive that sweeps around to come up almost underneath the massive bridge that spans the Nakano. Obito sits up carefully, glancing around, but the press of the city is right behind them, only briefly interrupted for this small stretch of landscaped greenery and the rocky edge of the water. There are a handful of people, but none of them are paying attention as Kisame parks the bike, shutting off the engine and pocketing the keys.

Obito slides off, and doesn’t protest the hand that grabs his elbow to steady him as he sways. Kisame is still watching him carefully, concern even more obvious now, and he asks, “Want some company?”

It’s almost tempting, but Obito wants to be alone even more. “Go terrify your stoner,” he jokes, managing a crooked smile, and Kisame grins back.

“I can do both,” he points out, but when Obito shakes his head he just tips one shoulder in a shrug. “All right. Got your phone?”

“No.” Damn it. “Most of my stuff’s still at the compound.” When Kisame's eyes narrow faintly, Obito waves him off. “You know Madara doesn’t like me to have other places to go.”

Kisame hums, faintly unhappy. “Money for a hotel, at least?”

His wallet, thankfully, is still a definite weight in his back pocket. “Yes, Mom. I’ll be fine.”

At least Kisame does him the favor of not looking disbelieving. “Sure, kid. I’ll be back here Sunday pre-dawn.” Reaching out, he taps the bite again, and says, “Slap a bandage on that, okay? Not much to do about the bruises, but you look like someone was chewing on you.”

“That’s because my asshole Sire _was_ ,” Obito mutters, but when Kisame gives him a look he waves a hand in agreement. “Fine. I need painkillers anyway, so I’ll stop at a drugstore.”

“A vampire needing painkillers isn’t a good sign, you know,” Kisame says, but he’s grinning again, clear amusement in his face.

Obito flips him off. “Yeah, yeah. Go swim in the river and give yourself radiation poisoning or something.”

Kisame laughs, loud and amused, and claps Obito on the shoulder just hard enough to make him stagger. “Nah, the water’s great. Maybe you should take a dip, too.”

Eyeing the black water, Obito grimaces. It doesn’t look any more appealing during the day, he’s sure. “Maybe next time. Thanks, Kisame.”

“Happy hunting,” Kisame returns, and his smile is all teeth as he tucks his hands in his pockets and meanders down towards the river.


	2. With no green weight of laurels 'round his head

Obito takes one more look after Kisame, watching the man’s massive form merge with the heaviest of the shadows, and then pulls his jacket a little more tightly around himself and turns towards the city. There's a short path back up to the streets, and Obito isn’t so far gone that he can't manage stairs, even if he doesn’t take them quite as quickly as he normally might. The flickering streetlights are already spreading patches of pale yellow light across the sidewalk, and Obito breathes in, scanning the streets. They're not empty by any means, but not as crowded as he’d like—easier not to notice someone getting dragged into an alley when there's more of a press.

He’s just stepping forward when the back of his neck prickles faintly, hairs rising. Eyes, he thinks, trying not to stiffen and give away that he’s felt them. Someone’s watching. Fifty years in a vampire court, especially as Madara's favorite chew toy, has given him a good instinct for that kind of thing, and he would swear that someone is following him right now.

“Fuck,” Obito mutters, reaching up to rub at the patch over his left eye. Great, just what he needs tonight—an audience. Probably a hostile one, knowing his luck. Though maybe not; this would hardly be the first time Madara's put watchers on him while pretending to set him loose.

Still, even if there _is_ anything to be done about it, it’s nothing Obito can manage when he’s this weak. Once he feeds, he’ll be better prepared to face whoever it is that decided creeping on him is a good idea.

It’s easy enough to find his way to a quiet side-street, only a handful of people out. They're moving in packs, for the most part, and Obito passes them by, nowhere near hungry enough to tempt fate by picking one of them. He could always go the ‘seduce’ route instead of the ‘attack’ he tends to favor, but that always puts him uncomfortably in mind of Madara, of a rainy night fifty years ago and a beautiful stranger that Obito never should have let come home with him.

Obito breathes out, drags his thoughts back to the present, and curls his hand into a fist. Right. He’s not going to think about Madara. Not for another two days at least.

With no options immediately forthcoming and his promise to Kisame so close, Obito turns away from scanning the street, wanders three blocks over and two up before he passes the lights of a chain drugstore and ducks in, keeping his head down and his collar turned up. He grabs a box of large bandages and a bottle of painkillers that won't thin his blood, pays the tired-looking clerk, and pauses outside to swallow four pills dry and slap a covering over Madara's bite.

The feeling of being watched is still there, and it’s starting to get annoying.

Grimacing a little, Obito debates the merits of hanging around and waiting for his stalker to come out, but eventually dismisses the idea. Better to face whoever it is on more equal footing once he’s fed, and if it _is_ someone Madara sent, they won't come out anyway.

“Get a fucking move on,” he tells himself, and it’s easy to summon up anger at the spinning in his head, the way his vision is still a little blurry around the edges. The way he aches when he moves too fast, which is a sign of just how slowly he’s healing. Practically human-slow, and Obito has to reassess just how much blood Madara drank from him—those accusations of draining him are more accurate than Obito thought.

Muttering curses at his massive prick of a Sire, Obito shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps walking, scanning the street more carefully now. There are a handful of high school kids out—dismissed immediately because Obito isn’t a _tool_ like Madara—some hurrying businesspeople still in suits, a few workers heading home, more groups of people clearly headed out for the night. Obito doesn’t see anyone who will likely go a while before being missed, though. He doesn’t have any plans to kill tonight unless he stumbles over someone who _truly_ irritates him, but with the amount he needs to take whoever he grabs is definitely going to be sleeping it off for a while.

It takes another twenty minutes of wandering close to the main streets but never quite on them, but eventually the sound of raised voices catches Obito's attention. He pauses in the shadows, watching a man and woman argue on the corner ahead. The woman’s face is pinched, the man’s angry, and Obito listens the accusations of cheating with half an ear, waiting for one of them to leave.

The woman is the first to go, storming off with a snarled _good riddance_ that Obito takes as the next best thing to an invitation. He watches the man mutter to himself for a moment, then step back out of the main street and pull out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out with an unhappy expression. There's no one on the other side of the street, only a couple on this side, and they're already turning onto another. It’s like fate is serving the man up on a silver platter.

Before anyone else can appear, Obito quickens his step, walking purposefully. The man looks up as he nears, then away, and—

Obito catches him in a chokehold, dragging him into the narrow alley between a restaurant and the corner store, and dodges a thrown elbow, a kick, a punch that goes wide. Turning, he slams the man into the wall, lets what trickles of power he has left surface, and catches fear-dark eyes with a gaze he knows has spun to crimson. Instantly, the man’s struggles stop, and he goes limp, staring at nothing. Obito's gums prick, his fangs lengthening, and he hates this part—too many memories—but he tilts the man’s head to the side, leans in and lets his teeth sink deep. As soon as he does, blood floods his mouth, smoky-sweet and warm, and he swallows it gratefully, drinks as deeply as he dares and—

A flash of movement, caught from the corner of his eye, and Obito wrenches loose, letting the man drop as he spins out of the way of the long knife that buries itself in the wall. He comes to his feet with a twist, teeth bared, to find a familiar figure at the end of the alley, sly half-smile on his face.

“Naka,” Obito spits, straightening, but he’s not one hundred percent yet, didn’t get enough blood to make up for what he lost, and that’s vastly unfortunate because Naka is a bastard at the best of times. “Did you know Madara has a torture chamber reserved with your name on it? He’s not overly happy with people willing to turn traitor.”

Naka snorts, though his expression is pleased. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t stick a knife in his back if you just got the chance, kid. I was there the first time you tried to kill our illustrious Sire.”

Obito bristles, mostly because it’s true. “Shut the hell up. What do you want, bastard?”

Clucking his tongue, Naka shakes his head. “That mouth on you. I’d have thought Madara would have beaten it out of you by now.”

“He’s tried.” Obito bares his teeth at the other vampire, tries to judge escape routes. Naka’s infamous for killing his own clan members, and Obito isn’t about to be the next victim, but getting out of this will take some creativity at his current strength. Hopefully this is just a crime of opportunity—if Naka is after him in particular, and not just hunting whatever of Madara's Children he comes across, this could get messy. “What the fuck do you _want_?”

Naka smiles. It’s the furthest thing from nice. “This isn’t personal, technically. Well, mostly. A couple of people want you out of the way, they're paying well, and I get to relieve Madara of his favorite toy. Everyone wins, except maybe you, but I don’t care about that.”

Fuck. Not a crime of opportunity, then, but at least now Obito knows who was watching him. Obito casts a quick glance at the wall behind him, but it’s smooth and doesn’t offer any handholds. He doesn’t even have his knives with him, since Madara kicked him out so suddenly.

“Bastard,” he hisses, and wonders if he has enough power to try for flames. They're tricky enough on a good day, though, and drained like he is—

“At least I'm not a whore,” Naka taunts, and Obito snarls, throwing himself forward. There's another knife in Naka’s hand, and he takes a wide swipe with it, but Obito drops below the blade, slams shoulder-first into Naka and twists over him, landing on his feet. Bolting back towards the street seems like his best bet, but before he can try it there's a growl, and Naka barrels into his back. They go tumbling to the ground, and Obito writhes, searching for leverage to throw the other man off of him.

Naka snarls in his face, all pretenses of humanity stripping away as his features twist, sharpen, his teeth lengthening. With a curse, Obito slams a knee into his side, makes to roll them—

The knife slams into his shoulder, scrapes bone, strikes the pavement beneath them and digs in, and a scream wrenches from Obito's throat as the wound _burns_. “What the fuck kind of vampire uses a _silver_ knife?” he gasps, trying to twist away, and Naka laughs. He gets a hand in Obito's hair, slams his head back into the concrete and bares his throat, and Obito snarls desperately, dragging heavy limbs into motion that’s too little, too slow. He’s pinned, silver sapping even more strength, losing what blood he managed to take, and he can't fight Naka off with one hand, couldn’t even on a good day. Naka is going to drain him, kill him and leave him for Madara to find, and of all the ways to go, dying to become a statement aimed at Madara is probably Obito's _least fucking favorite._

And then, from the top of the alley, a low voice orders, “Bull, go!”

Naka jerks around, looking for the speaker, but in the same moment a massive dark shape hits him, huge jaws snapping shut, and Naka howls as he’s bowled off of Obito, slammed into the ground by something that looks like a bulldog, if a bulldog were roughly the size of a pony and built along the same lines as a tank. The dog shakes its head hard, the way a hound would snap the neck of a rabbit, and it might not be enough to kill Naka, but it’s plenty to distract him.

Another furred shape brushes past Obito, practically throws itself over him as it blocks the way deeper into the alley, and Obito can just make out red fur, a white muzzle, and thick bandages around the dog’s neck before human hands are on him. He jerks, tries to scramble back and away, but they catch him before he can jar his shoulder, and a man warns, “Careful, careful, it’s okay. Ūhei, guard.”

The red-and-white dog barks once, setting its feet and lowering its head threateningly, and the man gets an arm around Obito and hauls him back towards the wall. “Stay here,” he warns, and then is up and gone, heading for Naka at a light-footed run.

 _Idiot_ , Obito thinks with a flare of panic, trying to shove himself back to his feet, because some good Samaritan who thinks he’s stopping a mugging is about to become a vampire’s snack, and Obito can't—

Light sparks in the dimness, flares, catches. The man flips his short sword from one hand to the other, then sweeps it across in a sharp slash that makes Naka scream. There's a whirl of desperate movement and the big dog jerks back with a yelp even as Naka comes to his feet. His teeth are bared, needle-sharp and a clear threat, and his eyes spin to crimson as his gaze darts past the hooded attacker to fall on Obito. He ducks a second slash, sidesteps a sharp stab, turns the next blow away with another knife. The big dog lunges, jaws snapping, but Naka kicks it in the side of the head as he leaps up and over, flipping in the air.

Obito sees the flicker of three more knives as they fly from Naka’s fingers, takes half an instant to calculate trajectory, and swears. Whether it’s by mistake or design, the blades are going to miss Obito.

They're not going to miss the dog that’s guarding him.

He throws himself forward, grabs the dog by its spiked collar and knocks it out of the way, because he can take the blow but he’s absolutely certain an animal won't do nearly as well. Automatic, at this point, to grab the knife that’s still embedded in his own shoulder as he moves, wrenching it out to a gush of blood and a burst of pain that greys his vision. Throwing it is easy, comparatively, and he’s seen Naka fight enough times to guess where he’s going to land. Blade already in the air, he twists, registers one silver blade scrape his cheek as it passes, hears the second strike the wall and bounce, feels the third slam into his left arm. It _hurts_ , and he staggers back, almost colliding with the dog, and slides down the wall as he tries not to pass out.

It’s still satisfying as hell to watch Naka’s own knife strike him square in the gut and sending him reeling back.

The stranger doesn’t waste a moment, either. He flips his sword again, darts in closer and ducks under Naka’s desperate, clumsy blow. Then the sword is rising sharply, flickering white in the dimness, and a spray of blood follows. Naka drops, throat sliced open, and the man jerks a stake out of the pocket of his jacket and puts all his weight behind the motion as he drives it into Naka’s chest.

One gasping, gurgling cry, and then Naka’s body shatters into powdery ash.

Thick, short fur slides under Obito’s hands, and with a low whine the red-and-white dog presses against his side, sharp ears folding back against its skull. It looks like a greyhound, but heavier boned, and it noses carefully at Obito's elbow when it notices it has his attention.

Obito's always liked animals, always wanted a dog. He’s never been able to have one, though; first he lived in a tiny apartment that didn’t allow pets, and then he was with Madara, who doesn’t take well to any kind of competition for Obito's time. He’s the sort of bastard who would think nothing of killing a dog just for having Obito's affection, and Obito hates him all the more for it.

“Sorry,” Obito tells it, carefully lifting his good arm and scratching behind its ears. “I didn’t let you do your job, did I? My fault.”

There's a quiet chuckle as the stranger crouches down in front of him. “You really didn’t,” he says, and Obito can feel his gaze on the seeping wound in his shoulder, the knife still in his upper arm. “You know, most people like to _avoid_ being stabbed.”

Before he can stop himself, Obito makes a face at the man. At the _Hunter_ , and hells, he really is going to get himself staked. “Not that anyone would realize that watching _you_. You do realize that twirling your sword is fucking stupid, right?”

Under the shadows of the hood, Obito can just make out the way the man’s eyes crinkle, the tell of a smile even if most of his face is hidden. “It worked,” he points out airily, and then when Obito scoffs adds archly, “And it looks cool.”

Obito and the dog trade incredulous looks. “I got saved by an _idiot_ ,” Obito tells it, and it barks once in what is definitely agreement.

“Ūhei!” the man protests, tone wounded enough to make the name sound like _traitor_.

Unrepentant, the dog huffs, shoving its head under Obito's hand again. He laughs a little, scratching obediently, and when he looks up the man is watching him curiously.

“He doesn’t like many people right away,” the stranger offers, reaching out to offer his own brief pat. Ūhei leans into it, though he doesn’t move away from Obito. “Then again, I suppose you did take a knife for him.”

Obito tips his good shoulder in a shrug. “I think he was aiming at me anyway,” he says dismissively. “Is your other dog okay?”

The man hums lightly, glancing back over his shoulder. “Bull’s fine. Just a scratch. You, on the other hand, are a little more battered.” Gloved hands reach up, pushing back the hood, and in the faint light from the streets his hair is as white as snow. The flicker of his eyes over Obito is clear, brief and clinical as it is. “You need a hospital.”

Fuck that. Madara really would kill him. Obito pushes Ūhei away as gently as he can, then tugs the throwing knife from his arm with a grunt and drops it on the ground. Silver again, which means it’s not healing anywhere near as fast as it should. Or maybe that’s just because Obito barely got to feed. He isn’t sure, and it’s a little hard to think clearly. “I’m fine,” he says sharply, getting his feet under him, and pushes up.

The Hunter catching his arm is the only thing that stops him from landing on his face on the pavement. “I can see that,” the man drawls, and when Obito glares at him he just smiles winningly. “But if you keep being this fine you're going to end up dead.”

“What do you even care?” Obito snaps, because this is a _Hunter_. Sure, he took care of Naka, but that can probably be put down to taking out the bigger threat first. At any moment now, Obito is going to find out just how effective his stupid sword-flips are. “I'm just—”

Long, callused fingers brush over the bandaged bite mark on Obito's neck, making him stiffen, and the Hunter meets his gaze, steady and set. “More than whatever they tell you that you are,” he finishes firmly. Taking in Obito's tense posture, he tips his head a little, smiling even if it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Vampires, I mean. I can get you away from them.”

Fear is sinking rapidly under a wash of confusion. _Them_ , he says, like Obito isn’t—

_You know, I can barely even tell you're one of Madara's right now._

Oh _hells_.

Between the slow healing and Obito's complete and utter uselessness in the face of getting jumped in an alley, this fucking Hunter has come to the conclusion that Obito is a _bloodbag_ , not a vampire himself. And maybe he’s technically correct, because Obito is unfortunately _Madara's_ bloodbag, but it’s still _fucking insulting_. He opens his mouth to snarl, maybe flash fangs or yell at the bastard, but Ūhei chooses that moment to nudge his knee lightly, and Obito's legs practically buckle. He pitches forward into the Hunter’s arms with a strangled yelp, and—

Okay. Maybe— _maybe_ —it is just slightly understandable that the asshole hasn’t realized Obito is a fearsome, blood-drenched monster of mortal nightmare when he can't even stand up on his own.

“Ugh,” he manages, pressing his forehead against the man’s chest as his vision spins.

There's an amused chuckle, and a hand strokes his hair. “If you throw up on me, I'm going to leave you for the rats,” the Hunter warns.

“Fuck you,” Obito tells him pointedly, but he doesn’t let go. Kissing the pavement is just about the last thing he wants to do in this city.

The Hunter just hums, unimpressed, and loops an arm around Obito's waist. “If you're not going to go to a hospital, at least let me patch you up,” he says mildly. “You're bleeding all over my coat.”

Obito hesitates. He’s a good half an hour walking from where Kisame is, and from there it’s another half hour at least back to the compound. Madara can deal with anything that’s happening at court, up to and including assassinations and power plays, so Obito hardly feels obliged to warn him, but he won't be able to get back before he passes out somewhere. Damn it.

“There's a safehouse two blocks away,” the man tells him, cajoling. “I’ll even order takeout.”

Hells, how long has it been since Obito has eaten actual food? Vampires don’t _need_ it, technically, and Madara doesn’t care to make a show of being human, so it’s just…not something that ever comes up. And—somewhere to rest sounds good. Dawn is a ways away, but the thought of having to hunt _again_ makes Obito want to close his eyes and whimper. He’s too tired right now, and there's no way he’s going to snack on the man he caught before while a Hunter is standing right there.

“Fine,” he allows, and it comes out grumpier than he intends, but that’s just as well. This is one of the dumbest ideas he’s ever had, right below “invite a vampire home to fuck you”. Still, Naka probably wasn’t working alone, or at least isn’t the only mercenary out there willing to take on Madara's clan for a fat paycheck, and the safest place in the world right now is probably standing next to a Hunter.

Or, more accurately, half-collapsed on top of a Hunter, but whatever. Obito needs to keep _some_ of his dignity.

“How gracious of you,” the Hunter says dryly, pulling Obito's jacket closed so that it isn’t quite so obvious he’s bleeding. He loops an arm around Obito's waist, taking most of his weight, and orders, “Ūhei, scout. Come on, Bull.”

The massive bulldog gives a low huff, shakes himself off, and lumbers up beside them, while Ūhei darts out to the mouth of the alley, barks once, and disappears down the street.

“It’s clear,” the Hunter says in explanation, then eyes Obito. “Are you going to faint if you try to walk? If I carry you you're going to get me all bloody.”

“Asshole,” Obito snaps, bristling. “And it would probably be an improvement. You look like a hobo in that thing.”

“Are you this rude to everyone who saves your life?” the Hunter wants to know, and the tone is wounded but his eyes are bright with something like mirth.

Obito makes a face at him. “Only when they're so _bad_ at it.”

Pointedly, the Hunter lets his gaze drift over the pile of ashes that used to be Naka, then raises a brow. “Are _you_ always this bad at saving people?” he asks, tipping his head at where Obito's victim is collapsed against the wall, eyes half-open and dazed.

So he’s assuming Obito saw Cheating Asshole over there getting snacked on, and offered himself as an alternative target or something? That is…actually kind of hilarious, given how it’s pretty much the exact _opposite_ of what happened. Not that Obito is about to correct the idea. He likes his heart un-staked.

“The bastard’s dead, isn’t he?” Obito retorts. He hesitates, looking back at the man, because Obito would normally cloud his mind, make the attack unclear, but with the Hunter here he can't, and—

The Hunter hums and pulls something from his pocket, waving it at Obito. A wallet, too sleek and clean to belong to a man who thinks patched denim is the height of fashion, and Obito blinks. “You—you _stole his wallet_?” he demands, more incredulous than offended by the idea.

“He’ll think it was a mugging,” the man says cheerfully. He tucks it away again, eyes crinkling, and adds, “So you won't worry. He should be fine.”

“I wasn’t worried!” Obito protests, and then promptly trips over his own feet when the Hunter takes a step. The arm around his waist goes tight, holding him up, and Obito is distantly glad he doesn’t have to worry about more than keeping his stomach in place as he groans.

“This really isn’t your day, is it?” the Hunter asks, amused, and Obito would flip him off if he could manage to see straight. There's a bit of digging through various pockets—Obito gets an eyeful of three more stakes, a throwing star, four knives, a grenade with a henhenomeheji face painted on it, and a length of wire that’s probably a garrote—before he comes up with a battered cell phone. “I have a friend who’s a witch. I'm assuming you don’t have any moral objections to her healing you?” The question is as dry as dust.

“Fuck you,” Obito tells him, and he’d make it clearer except the thought of trying anything more energetic than talking right now makes his vision grey out.

The Hunter hums, unimpressed, and doesn’t even bother looking up from his one-handed texting. “I'm Kakashi Hatake,” he says, like it’s an afterthought.

“So I know who to curse at?” Obito closes his eye, focuses on staying upright and not the unfamiliar warmth of the man pressed against him. Vampires run cold, even when they're well-fed, and he doesn’t know whether it’s the unfamiliarity that makes Kakashi feel furnace-hot, or if it’s just him. A breath, and it’s close to a surrender, but he hurts all over and his head is spinning and he just. Can't. “I'm Obito.”

The last name he keeps to himself—he isn’t allowed his old one anymore, and saying _Uchiha_ is the clearest way of declaring himself one of Madara's Children. Only those Madara turns himself get to carry it, and Obito might be indulging in a hell of a lot of stupidity today, but not _that_ much.

Kakashi glances up at him, just for a moment, and there's a smile crinkling his eyes. “Obito,” he repeats. And then, “Ah, but I've been calling you _princess_ in my head. I think I like that better.”

“ _Die_ ,” Obito snarls. He trips over the mountain of dog that is Bull and falls flat on his face when Kakashi dodges his attempt to strangle him, but it’s still entirely worth it.


	3. And wearied with man's never-ceasing moan

Rin manages to make it to the safehouse before their takeout can, and Kakashi isn’t sure whether that says more about her or his favorite restaurant, since she lives on the other side of the city and the burger place he ordered from is just down the block.

When he opens the door for her, she’s glowing faintly in the way that says she’s just come from a major working, a light beneath her skin and a universe in her eyes. Kakashi looks at her and wonders how the hell she could walk through the streets, past thousands of regular people, and have them entirely fail to see the magic in her. It’s…bewildering.

Then again, Kakashi has never quite understood how most people manage to miss the supernatural even when it’s blatantly shoved in their faces, so.

“In the bedroom,” he says, even as she breezes past him, dumping her umbrella on the chair beside the door.

“Hello to you too,” Rin says cheerfully, already pushing up her sleeves and digging through her satchel. “I'm fine, thanks. Oh, no, I wasn’t doing anything important, but thanks for asking. Yes, the weather is lovely, but I think it’s going to end up storming tomorrow. No refreshments at the moment, I’m all right.”

“I love that you can take care of the small talk for both of us,” Kakashi tells her. “It must save us so much time.”

Rin rolls her eyes at him. “Aoba was telling me that you don’t even go to Hunter meetings anymore unless they drag you. Are you getting out at all?”

“Aoba spends half his time as high as a kite under the downtown bridge,” Kakashi says dryly, “and the other half hunting.”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” Rin tells him sweetly.

This conversation isn’t going anywhere Kakashi is comfortable with. “I take my dogs out,” he says. “Three times a day.”

“No one is going to approach you when you’re leading _eight dogs,_ Kakashi,” Rin retorts.

That’s kind of the point, Kakashi thinks, but he’s smart enough not to say it. “Vampire victim,” he reminds Rin, and if she doesn’t get off this subject he’s going to throw himself out the window. Rin will probably catch him, but he feels like the action itself will say plenty.

By the look she gives him, Rin can see he’s approaching critical mass, so she rolls her eyes again, dusts off her hands, and says smartly, “Well?”

Kakashi steps over Guruko as he leads her down the hall, squeezes past Bull, and whistles softly to stir Ūhei, who picks up his head and pricks his ears, but doesn’t move from where he’s completely blocking the bedroom door. He took it as a personal slight when Kakashi dragged him out to let Obito rest, and it looks like he’s just waiting for the moment Kakashi glances away for long enough to try the latch.

Sometimes, Kakashi deeply regrets teaching his dogs how to open doors. More often than he doesn’t, really.

Rin, of course, either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about the sulking basenji in front of the door. She pushes it open, and before Kakashi can say anything Ūhei eels through the gap. He takes a flying leap towards the bed the moment he’s over the threshold, and Kakashi winces in anticipation of the yell.

Instead, there's a low groan, and a pale hand reaches up, stroking Ūhei’s ears. “You're a menace,” Obito says, but he sounds amused more than anything. Ūhei whuffs happily like the traitor he is, tail thumping the mattress, and very pointedly doesn’t look back at Kakashi as he burrows closer to Obito.

Well, Kakashi wasn’t talking to him anyway, so there.

“Hi!” Rin says cheerfully, though not at quite the volume she would normally use. She offers Obito a bright smile when he turns his head to look at her, and immediately adds, “No, no, don’t get up, you're fine,” as he starts struggling to get an arm underneath himself. “I'm Rin Nohara, a witch. Kakashi said you didn’t mind magic?”

A touch of wariness flickers over scarred features, and Kakashi decides it’s time to butt in. “If he doesn’t mind vampires, I’d assume he doesn’t mind witches,” he says cheerfully, offering Obito a bullshit smile just to watch irritation twitch across his face.

“Are you _actually_ a Hunter, or just an idiot with a sword?” he bites out, tries again to push up off the blankets—

Rin pushes him back with one hand and that one smile that manages to be cheerful and malicious all at once. “Down, please.”

Obito takes one look at her and drops flat again without argument.

Kakashi would laugh, except a moment later Rin turns that same smile on _him_ , and says pointedly, “Kakashi, we’ll talk in a minute. Can you make me some tea?”

It’s the closest thing to _get out_ possible while still being even vaguely polite, but Kakashi knows enough not to test it. “Tea,” he acknowledges, wondering what the likelihood is of there being even a sad stray teabag in the cupboards. Not great, probably. “Ūhei, come on.”

Ūhei whines so piteously that it should be featured as the soundtrack on a shelter fundraising commercial, but instead of looking at Kakashi, he slides closer to press himself up against Obito's side, then drops his head on his paws and whimpers pleadingly.

Kakashi can practically _see_ Obito going soft and gooey as he caves. Faintly trembling fingers stroke Ūhei’s head, and as Ūhei presses into it Obito smiles a little. “He can stay,” he says. “If you don’t need him for anything else.”

For a moment Kakashi is almost tempted to invent something, but…that smile. The way Obito is watching Ūhei nose at his hand. The way he didn’t even hesitate to jump in front of Ūhei in the fight.

Kakashi blows out a breath. Despite what some people say, he knows when to surrender. “If he gets in the way, just put him outside,” he orders, and tries to aim the warning at Ūhei in particular.

“It will be fine, Kakashi.” Rin smiles at him, already laying out a small bowl, a handful of rough crystals, and a pack of worn playing cards. Obito is still watching her warily, but he hasn’t made any move to protest, and from what Kakashi can tell he doesn’t seem to have any problems voicing his opinions regarding things.

“Have fun,” Kakashi tells them, then slips back out into the hall. Shiba is eyeing the door, head tipped, and Kakashi says, “ _No_ ,” very firmly. The last thing Obito needs is to be crushed under a pile of curious dogs. “I know you have bones in the living room. Occupy yourself with them.”

Shiba sneezes, and just to be contrary flops over right where he’s standing, dropping his head on his paws as his crest of fur falls into his eyes.

Kakashi is surrounded by traitors.

“Fine then, Bisuke can eat your bone,” Kakashi says loftily, but Shiba ignores him by pretending to be asleep. Deciding to believe he managed to get the last word in, Kakashi steps over him, retreating to the kitchen. The whole house is quiet, and he can't hear anything from the bedroom without lurking in the hallway, so he does a quick check for tea—lots of cobwebs, no teabags, as expected—pays the delivery girl for the bags of burgers he ordered and leaves them by the stove, and then leans back against the counter, fiddling with his phone.

For a minute he debates calling Jiraiya, or maybe Minato. They should still be near the Uchiha caverns with their teams, watching the entrances, and Kakashi should probably let them know that his decision to follow a lone motorcycle back to the city paid off. If he does that, though, they’ll want to come and interrogate Obito. Kakashi’s not exactly a bleeding heart, but he remembers the sheer terror on the other man’s face when the leech in the alley dragged his head back, bared his neck. That was a learned response, experience telling him exactly what to expect, and while Kakashi wasn’t quite close enough to catch a glimpse of whatever wound he had slapped a bandage over, he’s willing to bet a month of bounties that it was a bite.

Obito didn’t seem to have any problem with Kakashi killing the vampire in the alley—helped him do it, even—but if anything that makes Kakashi even more certain he’s been with vampires for a long time already. There's a certain desperate sort of self-preservation in long-term feeders, an understanding that very few people will care about their deaths or help them to survive, and Kakashi is sure that’s what he was seeing. Obito said _no_ and the vampire went after him anyway, but he killed it. He survived, and whether Obito was escaping the vampire nest or just taking a break from being a feeder, this is Kakashi’s chance to convince him not to go back.

If he pulls Minato or Jiraiya in, two of the Hunters’ leaders, that opportunity might disappear completely.

He’s still debating it when his phone vibrates, and he glances down to see Aoba's name. Raising a brow, he opens the message, and—

**From: Bird Brain**

[11:10]

I FUCKIGN T O L D YOU THERE WAS A SHARK

_[Image attached]_

Yeah, that’s about what Kakashi expected. He rolls his eyes, but checks the image, mostly for the massive amounts of shaming he’ll be able to do if it’s another picture of a stray tire.

It’s not, and there's definitely a shape out in the water, just beyond the light from the bridge. It could be a shark, but then again it could also be a log or an overturned boat. Unless Aoba actually swims out to check, there's no way to say for certain.

**From: Top Dog**

[11:13]

New batch? Did you change dealers again?

**From: Bird Brain**

[11:13]

EXCUSE ME IF I’M WORRIED ABOUT JAWS INVADING THE CITY, BASTARD.

**From: Top Dog**

[11:14]

I would think the vampires were a more immediate problem.

**From: Bird Brain**

[11:16]

The vampires don’t ALMOST EAT ME when I go to put my feet in the water, okay.

**From: Top Dog**

[11:17]

If the shark does eat you, it will be the highest shark this side of a kite.

**From: Bird Brain**

[11:17]

It’s RIGHT THERE Kakashi I can see it watching me

[11:18]

IT’S COMING BY AGAIN

[11:18]

It just swam past but it’s H U G E

[11:19]

Oh god I kind of want to ride it

 

Kakashi can feel his eyes widen in alarm. Aoba is not the greatest at impulse control at the best of times, and on the off chance it _is_ a shark—or at the least a very, _very_ lost seal—it’s probably best to call in reinforcements here.

**From: Top Dog**

[11:19]

How about you call Genma instead and let him tell you all the reasons that’s a terrible idea

**From: Bird Brain**

[11:20]

Genma's stalking bloodsuckers with Minato, and I thought you didn’t believe it was a shark.

**From: Top Dog**

[11:21]

I don’t need to believe it tell you not to be an idiot

**From: Bird Brain**

[11:21]

Coming from YOU?

 

Kakashi gets no respect from anyone around here. It’s a tragedy.

 

**From: Top Dog**

[11:22]

I'm not the one who wants to ride a shark here

**From: Bird Brain**

[11:23]

I am a strong and fearless Hunter hear me roar

[11:23]

Yo if you don’t hear from me by tomorrow morning tell Gai I love him

[11:23]

And give him a kiss for me

[11:24]

Make sure you include tongue

 

Oh god.

 

**From: Top Dog**

[11:24]

Aoba no

[11:24]

Do not

[11:24]

AOBA

[11:25]

If you die Gai will cry on me spare me that at least

[11:26]

I will let Kotetsu give the speech at your funeral

[11:27]

Aoba

[11:27]

Aoba

[11:27]

Aoba ANSWER THE PHONE

 

It rings through to voicemail for the third time and Kakashi groans, rubbing his temple. Aoba is a ridiculous person and Kakashi hates him so much right now. For a moment he considers calling Gai, but Gai is _equally_ ridiculous and will likely just encourage whatever idiocy is happening.

The best bet is probably to leave it alone. Aoba will dunk himself in the river, realize his shark is actually a chunk of lumber, and go home to throw himself at Gai and sulk. Next time they hunt together Kakashi will mock him, Aoba will bluster and try to set his crows on Kakashi, and everything will be fine.

Still, Kakashi pulls up his contacts, tries to remember who has a patrol near that area, and finally decides it’s probably Kurenai.

 

**From: Top Dog**

[11:31]

Can you check under the downtown bridge when you pass it? Aoba might have drowned

**From: ~~Mrs Asuma~~ Yuuhi**

[11:32]

The shark again?

**From: Top Dog**

[11:32]

The shark again

**From: ~~Mrs Asuma~~ Yuuhi**

[11:33]

I’ll be there in 3 minutes

 

That’s something, at least. Kurenai is clever and won't let Aoba bullshit her about anything, and if he’s in trouble she’s more than capable of dragging him out of it. By force, if necessary. Satisfied, Kakashi sets his phone aside, makes a mental note to call Aoba again in the morning just to make sure, and goes to start the coffee pot. He has a feeling it’s going to be one of those nights.

Just as he’s pouring his first cup, there's a soft pad of footsteps from the hall, and he looks up to find Rin turning the corner. Her mouth is pulled a little tight, some of the glow faded from her skin, and without needing to ask Kakashi pours her a cup as well, adding extra sugar.

With a smile of thanks, Rin takes it, then pulls herself up to sit on the counter and kicks off her flats. She takes a careful sip, then turns the cup in her hands for a moment before she says, “Don’t worry, he’s asleep. He’s from the nest outside the city?”

Kakashi hums, adding cream to his mug and then turning to brace his back against the fridge. “Mm. We had the nest staked out, since my father passed on a rumor that Madara had a consort and we were hoping for a glimpse. I saw him leave the complex and followed him into the city. A vampire jumped him in an alley and I stepped in.”

“Only you could make hunting sound boring, Kakashi,” Rin says ruefully. She taps her nails against the ceramic for a long moment, then asks, “Consort?”

“Apparently.” Kakashi can't quite help making a face. “We don’t know anything about Madara's clan, really. Only a few vampires ever leave, and those who do are usually killed quickly. He doesn’t accept many visitors, either, but Orochimaru got an invitation, and he took my father.”

“And your father saw the consort?” Rin is watching him carefully, though Kakashi isn’t entire sure why. The issue with his father is over and done—he’s a werewolf now, bodyguard and lover to a truly terrifying necromancer, and that’s not changing, but even if he can't be a Hunter anymore at least he’s alive. Kakashi will take what he can get.

He shakes his head. “Apparently Madara had him doing something in another city, but going by the gossip he’s been consort for fifty years now. That’s a hell of a long time to keep Madara's interest. Or his head, in a vampire court.”

Rin frowns a little, but shakes her head. “A vampire tried to jump Obito, you said?” She rubs a hand over her eyes. “I don’t think it was the first time. He’s down almost three pints of blood, Kakashi. And the bruises…” She trails off, but Kakashi hasn’t seen her looking quite this unhappy in a long time. “His body’s adjusted to the abuse. I don’t know how long it’s been since he was at a regular level for blood, or even sleep.”

Kakashi doesn’t need her to spell out what that means. It’s long-term, likely severe; Kakashi’s seen how feeders are treated, and it isn’t a fate he would wish on anyone. “He’ll be all right?”

“With rest and food, assuming he doesn’t go back there.” Downing her coffee in a few long swallows, she pushes off the counter, landing lightly on the floor, and smiles up at Kakashi. “I should go. Anko will be home soon, and I promised I’d pick up dinner. Keep an eye on him, Kakashi, and call me if anything comes up, all right?”

Kakashi smiles back, slow and tired but grateful. “Of course. Thanks for coming out, Rin.”

She waves that off, and her smile is full of mischief as she steps into her shoes. “Don’t be like that, Kakashi. We’re practically siblings at this point, at least in law.”

“ _Step_ -siblings-in-law,” Kakashi stresses, because he’d rather not claim any more kinship to Anko than he has to. It’s not even the fact that she’s a nagini—he’s met plenty of benevolent or at least not outright harmful monsters. More that she’s Orochimaru’s adopted daughter, and all the chaos of a hurricane made of knives trapped in a human body.

(Maybe there's still a little bit of unhappiness about his father’s situation, too, but it’s not for the reasons Rin probably thinks. It’s just—Orochimaru was the one to find him, to help him come back to being some semblance of human after he was cursed. Kakashi had thought he was dead, had stopped looking. He’s not entirely sure he’s forgiven himself for that yet.)

But Rin isn’t laughing the way she normally does at his sidesteps. When he glances up at her curiously, she’s chewing on her lower lip, a nervous habit she’s never quite broken. At Kakashi’s raised brow, she hesitates, then says, “I think…his aura. It feels like he’s had sex recently. And there are a lot of bruises.”

She doesn’t add anything more, but this is another time when she doesn’t need to. Kakashi’s been a Hunter since he was a child. He knows exactly what some vampires do to their feeders, how they feed and the extent of what they take.

His lungs don’t quite want to work, but he forces himself to breathe out, to lift his head and meet her smoky brown eyes squarely. “I’ll try my best to keep him from going back,” he promises, to her and to himself in equal measure.

Rin smiles sadly, tugging the strap of her flat into place. “That’s all we can do,” she says, then crosses to stand in front of him, lifts up on her toes and kisses him on the cheek. “Make sure you sleep, Kakashi, all right?”

 _No promises_ , he thinks, considering the man currently asleep in his bed. Maybe there aren’t going to be any vampires looking for revenge in the name of the one they killed, but Kakashi isn’t about to take that chance. Still, Rin doesn’t need to know that, so he smiles cheerfully at her. “Don’t forget your umbrella.”

Some of the humor comes back into Rin's face, and she beams at him, skipping a step back as she practically radiates mischief. “Oh, it’s not for me! You’re going to need it, I think.”

Kakashi stares at her for a moment, wary and curious in equal measure. It’s not a regular thing, but Rin's spirit gives her _feelings_ about things sometimes, and Kakashi’s never known one to be wrong. He’s never had her pass on one as innocuous as needing an umbrella before, though.

“Is this the same sort of feeling as you thinking it will storm tomorrow?” he wants to know.

Rin wrinkles her nose, startlingly cute for one of the nine most powerful witches in existence. “Don’t be silly! That’s just sensing barometric pressure and approaching clouds. Han said there's a front moving in from the coast, and it should break in a few hours.”

So the umbrella is something different, Kakashi decides. He doesn’t have the faintest idea what it will be for—maybe he can use it as a stake in a pinch?—but he trusts that Rin wouldn’t have mentioned it if it weren’t important.

“…All right,” he allows slowly. “Thanks.”

Rin's laughing at him, but she’s at least not being obvious about it, so Kakashi can let it pass. “Goodnight, Kakashi,” she says fondly. “Take care of yourself.” With a cheerful wave, she leaves the kitchen, and Kakashi hears her cooing at Bisuke for a moment before the door opens, then falls shut again.

Taking a breath, Kakashi stares down at his milky coffee for a long moment before he sets the cup aside and rubs his hands over his face. He waits as the silence of the apartment settles again, broken by Pakkun’s deep snores and the thumps of Akino turning around in his bed, and then pushes upright. A quick check to make sure the front door is securely locked, and he moves down the hallway, steps silent. Shiba really is asleep this time, long legs sprawled across the floor, and Kakashi smiles a little as he steps over him, opening the bedroom door quietly.

Ūhei pricks up his ears as Kakashi steps in, but he doesn’t otherwise move, stretched out along Obito's body. Obito himself is half-curled, lying on his side with an arm over Ūhei’s back, and he doesn’t stir at all. One of Rin's crystals is on the nightstand, glowing pale peach, and if Kakashi stares at it for too long he can feel his eyelids getting heavy. A sleep spell, then, and he knows Rin doesn’t do those without permission.

It shouldn’t warm Kakashi that Obito felt safe enough to fall asleep here, but he can't quite help it. Carefully, he reaches out, not quite touching, but…considering it. Awake, Obito was pretty, with mobile features and an edge of animation that made him vivid. Asleep, he’s beautiful, face strong-boned and elegant, hair dark with just a hint of curl, a full mouth gone soft and large eyes both left visible by the absence of his patch. The scars make his face something interesting, sharply dividing it between smooth skin and curved marks that have paled with age. He’s not classically handsome, maybe, but he’s lovely to look at.

Finally, though, Kakashi lets his hand drop to Ūhei’s head, strokes red ears lightly before pulling away. “Guard,” he says, though at this point he hardly suspects he needs to; Ūhei’s fonder of Obito that he’s ever seen the basenji be of a stranger before.

Obito stirs faintly at the sound of his voice, expression twisting before it smooths out. His fingers burrow into Ūhei’s fur, and he curls further in on himself. The bruises lining his jaw are stark against the light from the hall, clearly in the shape of fingerprints, and Kakashi wants to stake whoever put them on his skin.

It’s not about Obito himself. Or maybe not _just_ about Obito himself, though Kakashi probably needs to stop getting attached to people who need help—Tenzō was more than enough trouble. But Obito fought back, was willing to kill to keep that vampire in the alley from getting his teeth in Obito's throat, and Kakashi knows a survivor when he sees one. His entire life he’s spent trying to weed out nests like Madara's, in order to save people like Obito, and—

Well. Seeing Obito try so hard to save himself, then immediately turn around and risk his life to save a dog he’d just met, was a reminder of just why Kakashi does this. There are good people in bad situations, and if there's any way at all Kakashi can help fix things, he has to.

Obito lets out a soft breath, turning his head just slightly, and a few strands of dark hair fall across his forehead. There's no reason for Kakashi to touch him—they're too short to be in his eyes, and either way, he’s asleep and won't notice—but, well. Self-control has never been Kakashi’s strongest trait, and he hardly even registers the thought before he’s reaching out, fingers skimming cool skin as he brushes the strands away.

The instant he grazes skin, though, Obito's expression twists, and even unconscious he manages to look _furious_. “Why isn’t it ever _enough_ for you, bastard?” he growls, and Kakashi has one fraction of a heartbeat to realize what a bad decision this was before a foot slams into his chest, hurling him back with a startling amount of force. He actually feels his feet leave the ground, has an instant to grab for the doorframe and get his feet back under him, and—

Promptly trips over one of Guruko’s abandoned squeaky toys and slams spine-first into the wall of the corridor, sliding down to sit hard on the ground as he wheezes.

Shiba wakes with a start, then picks his head up, cocking his ears curiously as he stares at Kakashi like he can't figure out why he decided to sit in the hall. Kakashi ignores him—let him see how it feels, the brat—and instead heaves himself to his feet, ready to intercept an angry, dazed feeder who is—

Who is still asleep. Still wrapped around Kakashi’s dog, even, without any sign that he disturbed Ūhei at all. The basenji is watching Kakashi, ears pricked and tail lightly thumping the mattress, amusement clear, and Obito is still exactly where he was a moment ago, all except for the one leg that’s now on top of the blankets. He looks annoyed, even in sleep, but even as Kakashi watches he curls into Ūhei, presses his face against red fur, and relaxes again.

 _Comeuppance for being a creeper, Kakashi!_ a cheerful, bubbly voice in Kakashi’s head says, sounding unnervingly like Rin, and he sighs and rubs gingerly at his chest. “That’s fair,” he mutters, and reaches out to close the bedroom door most of the way. It doesn’t look like Ūhei is planning on moving any time soon, but Kakashi can be considerate.

Sometimes.

Of his dogs, mostly, but that still counts.

 _Why isn’t it ever_ enough _for you, bastard?_

Kakashi grimaces, because he’s pretty sure he knows _exactly_ why Obito reacted that way to someone touching him in his sleep, and it’s not the kind of thing he wants to dwell on. If he does he’s going to start getting angry, and Minato doesn’t take well to Kakashi attempting to burn out vampire nests on his own. After last time and all the worried eyes and gentle disappointment and _I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you, Kakashi, you're like the little brother I never had_ , Kakashi is pretty much willing to do just about anything to keep another of those meetings at bay. Which, knowing Minato, is entirely why he did it in the first place, even if he _did_ happen to mean what he said.

With a disgusted huff, Kakashi drags a hand through his messy hair, decides that he wants dinner more than he wants to breathe right now, and abandons any plans of waking Obito for food. He’s sleeping, and that’s a good start. The takeout will last until morning as long as Kakashi keeps it out of the dogs’ reach, and rest is probably the best thing for Obito.

In the morning, Kakashi will ask him about Madara's nest, and then call Minato if there's any new information. For now, he’ll content himself with checking all the locks three times and making sure there are always at least two weapons close at hand. It’s only about five hours until sunrise, and then Kakashi can stop worrying about vampires at the very least.

With one last glance at the half-open door, Kakashi turns away, drags his mind back to the job at hand, and leaves Obito to what are hopefully pleasant dreams.


	4. For sins no bleating victim can atone

Obito wakes to a heavy weight on top of him, and has half a second to feel a flash of mingled anger and fear as he starts to heave himself up—

There's a cheerful whuff right in his ear, a long wet tongue that licks across his face, and the feel of fur under his fingers as he jerks. Obito opens his eye, because that was _definitely_ not Madara and after what happened last time he’d _remember_ if he’d gone to bed with one of the werewolves again, but instead of a shifter, there's a regular dog next to him, ears perked up and mouth open in a lolling grin. For a long moment, Obito just blinks at him, and then rolls halfway over to look at his other side.

There are two more dogs there, a large grey and white one who looks mostly Husky, with a crest of darker fur like a mohawk, and a smaller tan dog with long, floppy ears who’s curled up by Obito's feet. A low, snuffling grumble makes him turn to find a fourth dog occupying the unused pillow, a small brown pug who opens one eye to regard him lazily, clearly dismisses him as unimportant, and goes back to sleep.

Ūhei noses into his lap, dropping his head across Obito's thighs, and groans happily when Obito obediently scratches behind his ears. His tail thumps the bed, making the grey-and-white dog raise its head curiously, and a moment later it’s climbed halfway up Obito's legs to get in on the action. Obito laughs before he can help it, offering his free hand, and the grey dog immediately licks his fingers, then shoves into his touch.

“Handsome boys, aren’t you,” he asks, scratching gently, and Ūhei gives a happy huff of agreement. Another moment and he squirms away, hopping off the bed to stretch, and then trots out the open door. A long, low whistle fills the air, and there's an instant scramble of waking dogs. The grey one flings himself right over Obito, slips on the sheet, and almost crashes into the floor before he corrects and bolts out of the room, and the pug is only a moment behind. At least three more crawl out from under the bed, joining the flood, and less than fifteen seconds later Obito is left in an empty room, staring at the door and wondering how many dogs one person can even _have_.

Not that he thinks it’s a _bad_ idea, but the logistics must take some figuring, honestly.

Still, the exodus is probably a good enough reason to get up, and Obito slides out of bed, sparing a glance for the sleep spell the witch had left him. He considers pocketing it, because he can't remember the last time he felt so rested, but…

Well. Sleeping deeply in Madara's court will likely end with him getting fucked over, either metaphorically or literally, and Obito is a weak enough vampire that he needs to stay on guard at all times or he risks ending up as collateral in someone’s power-play. He’s Madara's favorite for reasons he’s never quite managed to figure out—maybe the fact that he talks back and mouths off when most vampires bow and cower—but that doesn’t mean Madara will lift a finger to help him most of the time.

With a grimace, he leaves the crystal where it is and reaches for his clothes. His jacket is mostly unsalvageable, ripped and bloodstained, and his tank top isn’t much better, but there's an unfamiliar white tank top tossed on top of his jeans, so Obito takes that as invitation enough and pulls it on. A little tight, since he’s broader than Kakashi even if he isn’t as tall, but it’s serviceable, and there's a folded hoodie underneath his jeans that covers his scars well enough.

He ties his patch on last, rubbing his thumb across his scars as he knots the thin ribbons behind his head. The empty socket is aching just a little, which means there's probably a storm moving in, and Obito grimaces a bit, wondering if there are any operational payphones left in the city. Maybe Kakashi will let him borrow his mobile, though calling Kisame from a Hunter’s phone seems like too large a risk for all involved. It feels like he slept clear through Saturday, though, and if it’s already evening, he has less than twelve hours before he has to meet Kisame back by the bridge. _And_ he still needs to feed, which means giving Kakashi the slip now that he’s at least a little more rested.

It feels a little ungrateful, wearing the man’s clothes and sleeping in his bed and still planning to up and leave the minute his back is turned, but Obito doesn’t exactly have a lot of options. If he’s not back at the compound by the end of Madara's time limit, and if he hasn’t fed by then, Madara will take it out of his hide. The other night was bad enough, and that was Obito gone because he was working for Madara; like this, after Madara gave him nominal freedom and Obito still failed to obey? Obito won't be leaving the compound again for _months_ , and he can't handle even the thought of that.

Grimacing, he drags a hand through his hair, then pulls the collar of the hoodie up a bit higher. Rin had healed most of the immediate wounds—and thank hell that silver doesn’t affect witches—but vampire bites are mostly resistant to magic, and Obito can still feel the faint throb in his throat. It’s hardly a new sensation, but usually Obito would have fed by now to help the marks close, and carrying them is an uncomfortable itch that makes him want to take a knife to his own skin.

Firmly tamping down on the thought—because he’s tried it, and more than just not working it made Madara _angry_ , which is something best avoided—Obito pushes open the door and checks the hall. No one is waiting, but he can hear Kakashi talking, and follows the sound of his voice to a cramped kitchen, made even more cramped by the eight dogs eating breakfast across practically every inch of floor. It’s probably his best chance to sneak out, and he takes one step back towards the main door—

Ūhei abandons the last of his food to leap over Bull’s back, almost crashing into Obito's knees as he lands, and then immediately jumps up to plant his paws on Obito's ribs and lick his chin. Obito yelps, but manages to keep his footing with a hand on the wall, and laughs a little, petting Ūhei gently.

“You're a friendly guy, aren’t you?” he murmurs, and Ūhei gives him a toothy dog grin, tongue lolling.

“Not for most people,” Kakashi says, putting a bag of small dog food back into the pantry and firmly closing the door in the pug’s face as it tries to follow. “Pakkun, I saw you steal half of Bisuke’s. No.”

The pug gives him a baleful look, then heaves what is definitely a dramatic sigh and skulks into the living room.

Kakashi rolls his eyes, then says sternly, “Ūhei, down. You're not supposed to jump on people.”

Ūhei snorts, a clear indication of his opinion about this, but drops back to all fours and gives Obito a pleading look. Not able to resist, Obito carefully drops to one knee to keep petting him.

“Don’t worry,” he tells the dog, “I don’t mind. You can jump on me whenever.”

“You're spoiling him,” Kakashi accuses, though there's no heat to it. He does one last check over the dogs, then washes his hands and starts refilling water bowls. “You slept for almost a full day,” he says over his shoulder. “I was about to call Rin back and have her check if you’d fallen into a coma.”

No suspicion in the words, and Obito lets out a careful breath of relief. He’s edging on old enough that he can wake up before the sun sets, even if he’s otherwise at the very bottom of the ladder as far as power goes, and since that part of vampire lore is a closely guarded secret, hopefully Kakashi won't make the connection. Not that Obito has otherwise given him reason to, as ridiculously useless as he’s managed to be.

All the more reason to get out of here before something happens, though. Obito's odds against a Hunter would be poor on a good day, let alone right now, and he’s already been lucky enough that Rin didn’t notice what he was. Getting staked isn’t on his bucket list, even if his knee-jerk reaction to any of Madara's orders is to do the exact opposite of what he’s been told.

“Just tired,” he says, and hopes it sounds even slightly believable instead of halfhearted and wary. “I—thanks. For the clothes.”

Kakashi turns around, drying his hands, and dark grey eyes flicker over Obito, lingering for a moment on his chest before dropping to his bare feet and then slowly sliding up again. Unlike the look in the alley, this one isn’t clinical at all, and Obito can feel his breath catch in his throat, not quite sure if it’s in trepidation or interest. He hadn’t exactly registered that Kakashi was handsome when he was bleeding out and on the verge of fainting, but—he is. He really is, and—

And that is a _bad idea_ , hells, that is _such_ a bad idea that Obito doesn’t even have a scale for it. Madara would lock him in his bedroom for the next _decade_ , and he’d probably kill every Hunter in a hundred mile radius just to make a point. Obito is just about the furthest thing from selfless, but he’s not willing to inflict _that_ on the man who saved him from Naka.

Swallowing, he looks down, forces himself to ignore the way Kakashi’s hair falls to frame the column of his throat and the way the sight of it makes his teeth prickle, and focuses on Ūhei, because dogs are safe and won't inspire him to do unspeakably stupid things. Well, probably.

“It’s not a problem,” Kakashi says lightly, and Obito can feel the weight of grey eyes on his bowed head. “This place doesn’t have a guest bedroom, but I'm fine on the couch. You can have—”

“I can't stay,” Obito blurts, then snaps his mouth shut, cursing himself. He’s supposed to _sneak_ out so there's no chance of being followed, so Kakashi won't see him feed, so that Kakashi can think he just helped some lost bloodbag who needed a break from the vampires and can feel good about himself for it. That was _not_ part of the plan, but—

He’s not even looking at Kakashi, and it’s still hard to lie to him.

There's a long, careful pause. When Obito risks a brief glance up, Kakashi is leaning back against the counter, arms folded in front of him as he watches Obito. His expression is unreadable, but there's a thread of tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“…Do you have somewhere else to go,” Kakashi says, and it’s not a question no matter the phrasing. Obito lets his gaze drop again.

“Back,” Obito tells Ūhei, scratching lightly under the dog’s chin. “I—just back. I can't leave for long.”

Another solid minute of silence, enough to make Obito's muscles wind tight with apprehension, and then Kakashi says quietly, “Whatever they're holding over you, whatever power you think they have over you, I can help. I can get you away from them.”

Obito laughs, but there’s nothing of humor in it, a raw, cracked sound that hurts his throat as it breaks free. Kakashi means it, he’s sure, and maybe if he was just a bloodbag it would be true. He could take Kakashi up on it, let the Hunter save him, but he _isn’t_. No matter what else he is, he’s also Madara’s Child, Madara's favorite. The only way Kakashi could break Madara's hold on him would be to get Madara to renounce his claim, and that won't ever happen. Obito stopped hoping for it a long time ago.

“No,” he says bleakly, meeting Kakashi’s eyes with a wry, crooked smile. “You really can't.”

He can see the stubbornness settling into Kakashi’s features, the way he’s about to protest, and—it hurts, a little. In his first life, there was no one to fight for him, and he’s spent the last fifty years fighting for himself, always struggling and only just managing to keep his head above water. Obito has never been able to give up, to give in, but he’s not used to having anyone else _want_ to keep him afloat, either. And maybe this is only because Kakashi doesn’t know who and what he is, but hells, Obito _wants it_.

As far as stupid ideas go, this is at the very top, but—

He takes a breath, pushing to his feet, and steps around Ūhei, ignoring the whine it gets him. Kakashi doesn’t move as he approaches, just watches him, steady and grim, and when Obito reaches up to touch the line of his jaw he doesn’t move away.

“You don’t have to go back,” he says, like rephrasing the words will make them true.

Obito doesn’t bother trying to argue with him. He splays a hand over his chest, feels the slow, steady beat of Kakashi’s heart beneath his fingers—no fear, not from this man. Only life, sure and unwavering, and he can't resist the urge to press close, to feel that heat again one last time. A breath, and he can smell hot blood beneath clean skin, a trace of sweat and fur and musk, and it’s like playing with fire but he still drops his head on Kakashi’s shoulder, cheek against his throat, and lets his eyes fall shut at the steady pulse of blood so close. His teeth _ache_ , gums stinging with the urge to let them extend, to bite, to feed, but he pushes the urge down. If he’s had practice at one thing over the years, it’s that. Control is easy.

There's a long, slow breath, and then fingers cup the back of his head, threading through his hair. Kakashi strokes lightly, slides his hand down to cup the nape of Obito's neck as his other hand settles over his hipbone. It’s the closest thing to an actual hug Obito has had in decades, free of Madara's possessive grasp and smug hunger, and Obito has to fight the faint shiver that slides down his spine. Kakashi is warm and firm and not a threat, not right now, and his hold is comforting but not containing.

Obito hadn’t realized how much he needed an uncomplicated touch, without the baggage that comes along with Madara's or the careful distance everyone from his court is required to keep with his favorite pet. Only Kisame ever dares to toe the line, and even that is rare. But this—this is better than he’d thought it could be, and that makes the ache inside of him worm its way deeper.

The hand on his nape shifts, just a little, presses up so faintly Obito could ignore it if he wanted to. He doesn’t, though, raises his head to meet Kakashi’s eyes, serious but with a faint crinkle that speaks of humor at the edges. He drags the pads of his fingers down Obito's spine, and Obito shivers again, lips parting. Kakashi’s gaze drops to his mouth without hesitation, but he doesn’t move. Obito might think he was the only one who could feel the sudden sharp spark of attraction between them, the way the air thickens with intent, except that Kakashi has gone completely still, barely breathing at all.

Obito is the one to lean across the space between them, to fit his mouth to Kakashi’s, and this is already dangerous for both of them. Just a kiss, barely more than chaste, but Kakashi’s mouth is soft and giving beneath his, not Madara's brutal taking but careful and sweet and _warm_. Obito can't help the sharp, almost pained noise it pulls from him, the way he grips Kakashi’s shoulders hard to hold himself up, to keep himself from running—

Kakashi’s arm slides around his back, pulls him in just that much closer, and he tips his head. A simple change to deepen the kiss, and now there’s a hungry edge to it, but bright instead of the dark, oppressive kind of hunger Obito is so used to. He leans in, feels Kakashi adjust the hand sliding back into his hair, the flicker of a tongue along the seam of his lips, but he can't risk opening to it. Not when Kakashi doesn’t know, will _never_ know.

With a sound of regret, he pulls away, sinks back even though Kakashi isn’t letting him go, and looks up to find Kakashi’s expression full of heat and want and something very close to wonder. That _hurts_ , because no one’s ever looked at him like that, and now it’s coming from a man who has no idea what he is, what he’s done, who would _kill him_ if he knew, and Obito can't take it.

He leans in, framing Kakashi’s face with one hand, and kisses him again, too short, too brief. Kakashi pushes after him when they part, dips in to kiss Obito again—

Obito lets his eye slide into red and black, looks up through his lashes to catch Kakashi’s gaze even as their mouths slant together, and watches the animation drain out of his face. His features go slack, his hands loosen, and when Obito wrenches away with a sound of mingled fury and disgust, entirely self-directed, Kakashi doesn’t move to follow. He just stares, blank and empty, and Obito presses a hand over his eyes, scrubs hard at his skin and whispers curses to himself.

This is the best way, though. If Obito doesn’t leave now, everything will go to hell, and he won't have that on his conscience.

Taking a breath, he steps back, carefully avoiding the suddenly warily attentive dogs. Easy enough to ignore them when they make no move to threaten him, and Obito hurries to the door, grabs his boots and drags them on. He doesn’t know how long a weak illusion like that, barely enough to cloud a person’s mind, will hold a Hunter, and he doesn’t want to linger in case it’s only a few seconds.

This is the best way, he tells himself again. This is the best thing he could have done. Kakashi will wake up, unable to remember exactly what happened in the few seconds before Obito spelled him, and Obito will have time to put distance between them, since _clearly_ he can't be trusted not to do every stupid thing that crosses his mind.

A soft whine pulls him up short with one hand on the doorknob, and he glances back despite himself. Ūhei is watching from the edge of the wooden floor, ears folded back, tail down. Obito bites his lip, but lets go of the handle and sinks down onto one knee, wrapping his arms around the dog’s neck and burying his face in thick red fur. He squeezes him tightly, feels a wet tongue lick his cheek, and can't help a scratchy laugh.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, pulling back to stroke Ūhei’s ears. “Just—take care of him, okay? Keep him from jumping into any more vampire fights and twirling his sword like a moron.”

Ūhei barks softly, noses at Obito's hand as he pushes back to his feet, and whines again when he steps towards the door.

Obito swallows, but doesn’t let himself waver this time. The sun is still up, and he grabs the umbrella that’s lying on the closest chair, telling himself he’ll get Kisame to mail it back along with Kakashi’s clothes. It’s the least he can do.

He takes a breath, steels himself, and steps out of the apartment, closing the door firmly behind himself. It’s three flights of stairs down to the ground floor, and he takes them quickly, pushing out into the late afternoon street with the umbrella already open above him. There are scattered storm clouds turning the sky dark, pierced by shafts of brilliant sunlight, but at least the light drizzle means he’s not overly conspicuous.

A moment to judge the crowds, the sun, the lengthening shadows, and Obito turns north, slipping deeper into the city and moving quickly. Less than twelve hours to feed and get back to the compound, and he’s not about to waste any more of it.

This whole thing was just a detour, that’s all. A brief intermission to remind Obito that there are things he can't do and freedoms he can't have, and if it hurts, well. At least it’s that much easier to remember that he has to walk right back into Madara's halls next time his master tugs on his leash. 

Obito drags the back of his wrist over his tingling lips, tells himself that the gentle warmth of Kakashi’s kiss will fade before long, and forces his thoughts back to the hunt.

He needs blood, and right now he’s not feeling too picky about where he gets it.

 

 

Sharp, insistent barking breaks Kakashi out of his daze, and he blinks back to awareness, sensation flooding back in. Shiba is pawing at his leg, barking the way he does when he’s trying to alert Kakashi to something, and with one glance around the kitchen it’s easy enough to guess the reason.

Obito is gone. He’s gone, and there's an empty sort of ringing in Kakashi’s head, like the precursor to a migraine, which he knows means he’s been spelled. But he’s never met a feeder who could spell even the most unwary of victims. That’s generally saved for thralls, and…

Kakashi stills.

That would explain a hell of a lot, actually.

An unwilling thrall, used for blood as some sort of power trip for the vampire who owns him, fed the vampire’s own blood in return—never enough to turn him, but enough to keep them bound, to keep Obito chained, and fuck, no wonder he didn’t believe Kakashi could help him. Breaking the bond usually leaves the thrall addicted to vampire blood, slowly sliding into insanity.

Kakashi takes a breath that shakes, rubbing his hands over his face as he tries to focus. It doesn’t explain _everything_ , because thralls are usually close to mindless, practically extensions of their master’s will, and Obito was anything but. Still. _Still_. He used a vampire’s ability, and that’s not something a feeder could manage.

He spelled Kakashi and _went back_. Went back to whatever life left him almost dead of blood loss, wandering the streets. Back to whoever gave him those bruises, high up under his jaw and so perfectly shaped like fingerprints. Kakashi’s stomach turns, and he breathes out, remembering the way Obito folded into his arms, exhausted and pained, the edge of desperation in his kiss even as he kept it so determinedly gentle.

With a sound of frustration at everything and everyone, Kakashi spins sharply, slamming his fist into the door of the fridge. It rattles with the impact, and his knuckles immediately start aching, but Kakashi shoves the pain down and turns, whistling for his best trackers.

There's a scramble from the front door, and an instant later Ūhei bolts around the corner, dragging his leash behind him. He skids to a stop, dropping it on top of Kakashi’s feet, and barks expectantly.

The decision doesn’t even take thought. With the way he practically attached himself to Obito's side, Ūhei could probably find Obito in the middle of a rainstorm now. And for Shiba and Urushi, already on Kakashi’s heels, there's a bloodstained jacket in the bedroom that will have more than enough of a scent on it. Kakashi grabs their leashes from the hooks, trying to calculate how long Obito has been gone already, how far he could have gotten. Thralls are weak to sunlight, even if it doesn’t burn them the way it would a vampire, and—

A high, shrill ring shatters the air, makes Kakashi twitch and bolt to his feet, automatically reaching for his phone. It takes a moment for him to find it, abandoned on the counter in the kitchen, with a familiar name lighting up the display.

For half a heartbeat, Kakashi debates ignoring it, leaving it behind and going after Obito anyway. It can't have been long—Shiba must have woken him only a minute or two after Obito's departure, if even that—and if he hurries…

But Kakashi swore an oath when he became a Hunter, dedicated his life to the cause. He _can't_ ignore a call from one of the leaders, and the realization sits heavy in his gut as he accepts the call.

“Yo,” he says, and prays that whatever it is, they don’t need him in person.

“Kakashi,” Minato says, sounding relieved. “Are you all right? I thought you were going to call back last night.”

Right. Because Kakashi had taken off to tail a pair on a motorcycle as they left the nest, and then gotten massively sidetracked by vampire attacks and pretty thralls with sinful mouths. He strangles a groan, putting his back to the wall and sliding down to sit on the floor as he drags a hand through his hair.

“I'm fine,” he assures Minato, and it’s mostly bullshit but his teacher hardly needs to know that. “It was just a long night.”

There's a pause, clearly worried, but thankfully Minato doesn’t press. “We need you back here as soon as possible,” he says. “Your father just called me. He has more information.”

Kakashi thinks about protesting, about telling Minato that he’s tracking a suspected source of information. But Obito didn’t once mention Madara, even if he is from the same nest. There's little chance whoever owns him is high enough up on the food chain to get close to the Master vampire, so Obito likely has less information than his father will, seeing as Orochimaru is Madara’s special guest.

It takes effort to swallow down the frustrated anger, the sense of uselessness that’s sharp and heavy in his chest, but Kakashi manages. He takes another breath and shoves it down, seals it away. He’s a top commander for a reason, and he has a duty.

Obito is only nebulously a part of that, as much as Kakashi wishes things were otherwise. A whole nest of vampires is a far greater threat than one thrall on his own, and Kakashi needs to keep reminding himself of that.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he says, and is almost surprised when his voice doesn’t shake. His throat feels tight, his chest empty, but it doesn’t matter.

There's a job to do, and Kakashi just has to keep moving.


	5. And sweet long lips with tears and kisses fed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the very end of this chapter and in the beginning of the next one, there's another MadaObi scene (last one, I promise) with bits of plot mixed in among the porn. If that's not your thing, because it is very dub-con, I'm planning to summarize the plotty bits at the end of next chapter, so you can stop reading whenever you get to a part that's uncomfortable.

“You need a bigger car,” Minato says with amusement, smiling at Kakashi as he slides out of his jeep.

Kakashi blinks, then glances back to where Bull is crammed into the passenger seat of his jeep, with Pakkun on the dashboard, Bisuke sprawled across the console between the two seats, and the other six dogs stuffed into the back, with Shiba and Akino hanging out the half-open windows.

“I do?” he asks, a little confused. They all fit, after all, and he has enough room for his weapons as well. Getting a new car seems like more of a hassle than it’s worth, honestly.

Minato makes a face at him, rolling his eyes a little. “Well, I suppose if you're happy,” he says, exasperated, which Kakashi finds vaguely offensive. His car is _fine_ , and he generally doesn’t travel with the whole pack, anyway. There's room.

“Is my father here yet?” he asks, trying to ignore the itch under his skin, the way his eyes keep wanting to slide back towards Konoha. He couldn’t stop scanning the streets as he drove out, and it was a ridiculous impulse, a stupid hope, but the fact that he didn’t see Obito anywhere still makes his stomach knot.

The look Minato gives him is too sharp, too easily able to see through just about every front Kakashi has ever put on. He studies Kakashi for a long moment, but all he says is, “Not yet. The nest is still locked down for the day, but they should be opening it up soon. Sakumo said he would get out as quickly as possible to give us more time.”

Kakashi breathes out, inclining his head. As a former Hunter, his father knows exactly how they operate, so that’s at least helpful. Even if he does have to work around his duties as Orochimaru’s nominal bodyguard, he’s been invaluable so far. Kakashi doesn’t exactly _like_ the fact that he can walk straight into a vampire nest, but at least he’s not still half-feral in the woods somewhere being hunted down by his former comrades.

(He doesn’t think about how the Hunters don’t really need him here, not when his father is already around. Doesn’t think about how he could be back in the city right now. It’s already started drizzling; by the time they get home Obito’s scent will be washed away, too old for even Ūhei to find it.)

Before he can dwell too much on things, though, there's a faint rustle in the trees, more courtesy to announce an arrival than anything, and a familiar figure drops to the ground, rolls once, and comes smoothly to his feet. Instantly shoulders dip into a lazy slouch, and a crooked smile crosses his face as he raises two fingers to his brow in lazy salute. “Kakashi.”

“Genma.” Kakashi eyes Minato's guard for a moment, taking in the rumpled clothing, mussed hair, and the way his shirt is on inside-out, and wonders if he should say something. He doesn’t _think_ such an experienced Hunter would take time on a mission to tumble someone in the woods, but Genma's looking very definitely disheveled at the moment.

All intentions to needle the man about it are driven from his mind a moment later, though, when Genma looks over at Minato and says, “Sakumo and Orochimaru just got to the base. You’re needed immediately.”

Well. That certainly doesn’t sound good.

Minato just smiles, calm and steady like he always in in a crisis, and nods. “We’re on our way. Kakashi?”

Kakashi opens the car door, letting his pack tumble out, and calls them to order with a whistle. They range around the edges of the small group as he follows Minato and Genma off the worn dirt road, up an incline that’s thick with massive trees. All too easy for something to jump at them from the shadows, Kakashi thinks, eyeing the heavy darkness with a healthy dose of caution, though Genma and Minato don’t look concerned. Genma's steps are steady and easy, almost loping, and he hasn’t tripped once in the dimness when even Minato has. Kakashi wants to call bullshit, but it’s all he can do to follow their shapes through the gloom.

“Sun set ten minutes ago,” Genma says over his shoulder, dodging what turns out to be a protruding root that Kakashi only narrowly avoids. “The newlyweds got to camp right after. Apparently Orochimaru got them out with the excuse of needing to renew a ritual.”

“Do you have to call them newlyweds?” Kakashi asks, possibly a little plaintively.

The flash of Genma's white teeth is obviously a grin. “Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities, dear, but your dad keeps kissing Orochimaru’s hand and making cow eyes at him. I call it like I see it.”

Kakashi makes a face that’s lost to the darkness, then pauses. They’ve been walking for almost seven minutes already, and if his father only showed up ten minutes ago—

“There’s no way you ran through this forest without breaking your neck,” is his verdict. “How did you get down to the road so quickly?”

Genma laughs, only a little mocking, and leaps up, grabbing a branch. He uses his momentum to flip himself up and over, landing on the limb in a crouch, and then jumps to the next branch ahead of them. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says cheerfully.

Kakashi would, actually, but before he can ask Minato makes a noise of amusement and says, “The scouts?”

“Haven’t found anything yet,” Genma answers. “I would have come and gotten you.”

“I know you would.” There's a smile in Minato's voice, and Kakashi mutters epithets against disgusting coupley people as he trips over a hole.

Thankfully, both Minato and Genma are good at being professional, so Kakashi isn’t subjected to more than a bit of drive-by gooeyness before they're stumbling into the carefully-hidden base tucked away under some of the largest trees. Kakashi can't make out any hints that the nest is nearby beyond the strange hush where there should be forest noises, but Madara is old even for a Master vampire, crafty and practiced at hiding his bolt-holes; whoever did the spellwork on this one was thorough.

The animals feel it, even so. Even Kakashi’s dogs, well-trained and extensively experienced at hunting vampires, are shifting more than normal, restless as they prowl the edges of the camp.

Though, Kakashi admits to himself, a large part of that could be the faint, cold shiver of _death_ that unfolds through air, traced with a greedy, devouring edge. It makes Kakashi’s skin prickle, drags up a primitive, terrified part of his hindbrain that remembers what it’s like to cower in front of a much, much larger predator with no hope of escape. He fights down the instinct that has him reaching automatically for a weapon, and is only vaguely comforted to see that every other Hunter in the area has theirs close at hand as well.

It’s practically impossible to relax with a necromancer in their midst, and Orochimaru isn’t the type to try and make it easy for them.

Like a pale wraith, he unfolds from the shadows, bringing pieces of them with him: raven hair that drinks in the light without reflecting it, streaks of dark, muted purple framing golden eyes. The rest of him is stark in contrast, colorless skin and pale robes edged with dove grey and lavender, wrapped with a sash of silver. Flickers of white against the black of his hair, at the hollow of his throat, around each of his wrists draw the eye, and Kakashi tries not to think what it means for this man to be wearing moonstones, always his father’s favorite. Tries, but can't manage it, not when Sakumo is falling into step with Orochimaru, easy and graceful and unconcerned.

Kakashi has looked a hundred times, a thousand, but he still can't see the wolf behind his father’s face. Not when Sakumo doesn’t want him to, and he’s never been sure if it’s a relief or not.

“Kakashi!” Sakumo says, smiling broadly, and in an instant he’s across the space between them, so quick that it carries an edge of _wrong_. Kakashi could step away, but instead he lets his father wrap him in a hug, curls an arm around broad shoulders in return and takes a careful breath. It feels good, though he’ll likely never admit it out loud, stops at least part of the buzzing anxiousness in the back of his head, and he can feel a trace of tension ease.

“Hi, Dad,” he says, pulling back, and Sakumo lets him go, though he catches Kakashi’s eyes with concern clear on his face. Kakashi smiles a little ruefully, because he never was able to get anything past his father, but just tips one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. Sakumo doesn’t press, just smiles back, faintly crooked, and then turns to offer Orochimaru a hand.

The necromancer takes it as he steps up beside Sakumo, coolly regal in a way that somehow doesn’t seem jarring against the backdrop of the forest. He inclines his head to Kakashi, dark hair falling forward around his face, and says, “Kabuto wished me to tell you that you owe him four hundred dollars and a new sofa.”

Kakashi strangles a groan. He was _happy_ being an only child, honestly. Siblings are a trial he never signed up for, and their inability to let go of grudges is ridiculous. “It was an _accident_ ,” he protests. “I didn’t know his roommate was a vodyanoy.”

Dark lips tip into a smirk, and Orochimaru raises one hand in surrender. “Merely passing on the message,” he placates. “Though you may be interested to know Suigetsu spent the next week after your visit hiding in the drain.”

It serves him right for trying to jump Kakashi the moment he’d realized Kakashi was a Hunter, but Kakashi isn’t about to say that. Kabuto is a creative bastard, and Kakashi isn’t about to test his possible revenge. Regretfully, he says goodbye to that new sword he’s been eyeing, and resigns himself to furniture shopping. Sometimes, it’s easier just to give in.

He will make sure to pick the ugliest, most uncomfortable sofa possible, though. Never let it be said that Kakashi can't be just as petty and underhanded as Kabuto, even if he isn’t a necromancer in training.

“Is something happening?” he asks instead, sidestepping the issue neatly.

His father’s grin says he sees exactly what Kakashi is doing, but obligingly he nods, tugging at Orochimaru’s hand and pulling him close enough to wrap an arm around his waist. It’s unconscious and kind of nauseatingly cute, and Kakashi is _scarred_. “Apparently Madara called his consort back. He’ll be in court tonight. And after the assassination attempt—”

“Assassination attempt?” Minato asks, faintly alarmed.

Sakumo waves that off, but his expression is somewhere between smug and satisfied. “One of Madara's Children who left the nest a few years ago. She sneaked in and tried to stab Orochimaru. I stopped her.”

“It was likely to make a political statement,” Orochimaru confirms, sounding rather bored. “Madara has been amassing power for fifty years now. Making overtures to a figure like myself is hardly something new for him, but I suppose I should be flattered they find me a severe enough threat to warrant assassination.”

“Not that you're going to join Madara,” Minato says, voice light and eyes sharp.

Orochimaru smirks at him, and the air around them seems to shiver, the temperature plummeting several degrees in a single second. A flicker of something white and ethereal curls around Orochimaru’s shoulders, then slides back into invisibility, and the necromancer says with perfect indifference, “Of course not, Namikaze.”

Clearly there are at least a few minefields in their personal history, Kakashi thinks warily, and debates taking a step back. He doesn’t, mostly because Genma doesn’t; the other Hunter has a good nose for danger, and unlike Sakumo he won't be safe from anything Orochimaru does.

“It’s a rare opportunity,” Sakumo puts in, with a thread of amusement in his voice that doesn’t really seem reasonable, given how deadly his partner is without even trying. “There are going to be several other local powers at court tonight, and after his Child’s attempt to kill Orochimaru, Madara's putting on a show of force. The consort should be present. I thought you might want a firsthand look.”

Kakashi’s eyes widen, and Minato takes a step back, startled. “You can sneak us in?” he asks, and Kakashi can see him rearranging plans, shifting his priorities to make room for this offer.

Orochimaru makes a sound of droll amusement. “Sneak? Of course not. I've been invited to bring another bodyguard, seeing as I was threatened in Madara's halls. I don’t believe anyone will suspect a werewolf’s son of being a Hunter.”

They're going to sneak _Kakashi_ in. Lovely. He thinks about walking right into a nest of vampires and other supernatural creatures picked specifically for their power, with only his father and Orochimaru as backup, and breathes out, careful not to let it shake.

Well, he’s done stupider things.

Probably.

“All right,” he agrees, and ignores Minato's sound of protest. “I don’t have any magic, though.”

“Not a problem,” Sakumo assures him. “Most people don’t advertise what they can do, and you're skilled enough to pass as supernatural.”

That is…actually a rather surprisingly pleasant compliment, Kakashi thinks, and smiles a little. “Where do we go to—”

With a whirl of long black hair, Orochimaru slides forward, grips him by the shoulder and steers him deeper into the camp. “If you think I would _ever_ allow any bodyguard of mine to dress like _that_ ,” he says distastefully, “you're massively mistaken. I'm sure the hobo look is fashionable in some circles, but certainly not in mine.”

“I'm very fashionable,” Kakashi protests, but he doesn’t try to resist the cool hand on his arm.

“Not wearing that you're not,” Kurenai tells him, watching them approach from where she’s leaning against a tree. The slant of her mouth is amused, even if her hand is a little closer to her knives that it might normally be. She inclines her head to Orochimaru, and adds, “Kakashi, I think that jacket is older than you are.”

“It’s _rugged_ ,” Kakashi says.

“It’s the only thing that is, pretty boy.” Genma grins in the face of Kakashi’s glare, pulling his bandana off and tucking it into his back pocket. He pulls his hair back in a stubby ponytail, glancing over at Kurenai. “You got everything?”

Kakashi really doesn’t like the sound of that.

Kurenai pulls a pair of garment bags down from where they’re hanging in the tree, then stoops to grab a makeup case that’s sitting at her feet. She tosses the latter to Genma, and tells Kakashi, “Strip, please.”

“I'm telling Asuma,” Kakashi threatens.

Cool hands pull the jacket from his arms without pausing. “I'm sure he’ll laugh,” Orochimaru says, folding the battered canvas over his arm. “Excuse me while I make sure your father gets ready on time.”

Kakashi eyes the faint curve of a smirk, the intent in golden eyes, and blanches. “Could you _not_? That’s my _dad_.”

Orochimaru chuckles, low and closer to something straight off a horror soundtrack than any normal sound of amusement. “I’m well aware. Hunters.” He tips his head to Genma and Kurenai, then turns and glides away, impossibly graceful across the uneven ground.

Genma and Kurenai both watch him go, then trade glances. “My money’s still on floating,” she says.

With a hum, Genma tilts his head. “Nah. Heelies. Has to be.”

“On _this_ footing? I don’t think so.” Kurenai waves a vaguely impatient hand at Kakashi. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting undressed?”

Genma's already laying out brushes and boxes and clothes, and Kakashi grimaces. “I'm keeping my weapons,” he tells them.

“Orochimaru even picked you up a new sword,” Genma says, placating, and laughs when Kakashi makes a face at him. He glances back over his shoulder, to where Minato and Sakumo have their heads bent together, and then pushes Kakashi back towards a fallen log. “Sit. I’ll make this as painless as possible, I promise.”

“Speak for yourself.” Kurenai has one of the bags unzipped, and is eyeing the revealed outfit with something that hovers between longing and appreciation. “Oh, this is _lovely_. He might be the Deathless, but Orochimaru has taste.”

“They probably make that in Asuma's size,” Genma points out. “You can ask him where he got it.”

Kurenai snorts. “Asuma? No, I want this for _me_. Kakashi, _sit._ ”

“Woof,” Kakashi says dryly, but sits anyway.

Genma, being an asshole, pats him on the head. “Good boy,” he says cheekily. “All right, are we going heavy or light here?”

“Light,” Kakashi puts in. “As in _nonexistent_.” 

“I wasn’t talking to _you_ ,” Genma tells him mildly. “Kurenai?”

Kakashi groans. It’s going to be a long night.

 

 

The throaty rumble of a familiar engine pulls Obito's attention from the three bodies he’s trying halfheartedly to shove behind a dumpster. Not dead, but he took enough from all three of them that they’ll probably regret waking up, not that Obito can bring himself to care. Harassing people means they were just asking for something like this, in his opinion.

Dropping a piece of cardboard over the most obvious one, he steps back, then turns to face the street just as Kisame pulls up beside the curb.

“What happened to Sunday morning?” he asks, a little annoyed. It’s been barely an hour since he left Kakashi—the sun only just set, and Obito was looking forward to a whole night on his own, without having to hunt any more. He probably would have spent it brooding, but at least the time would have been his own.

“Sorry,” Kisame says, though he doesn’t turn the engine off. “Madara wants you back for court tonight. Mikoto tried to knife Orochimaru the Deathless.”

“ _Mikoto_ did?” Obito asks, almost startled enough to forget he’s angry. Then he pauses, considering, and has to grimace. “Never mind, she would definitely do that if she thought it would piss Madara off. Did she get away?”

Kisame shakes his head. “Madara tossed her in a cell. I think he’s going to give her to Orochimaru after tonight.”

“Fuck,” Obito mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. He _likes_ Mikoto, has always admired the way she told Madara to go fuck himself and struck out on her own. And he won't be able to do anything to help her, if Madara keeps him close all night.

There's a huff, barely audible over the hum of the bike’s engine, and Kisame says almost gently, “Come on, kid. Madara's waiting.”

Fuck that, too, Obito thinks, gritting his teeth, but he goes anyway, stuffs Kakashi’s umbrella into one of the sidecases, then puts a foot on the pegs and swings his leg over, settling in behind Kisame's bulk. The shapeshifter makes a sound of surprise, leaning back a little, and glances over his shoulder.

“You're warm,” he says, raising a brow, and there's a grin breaking across his face. “I don’t think I've ever felt you more than vaguely clammy.”

Obito makes a face at him, but jerks a thumb at the dumpster. “I had a three-course meal,” he retorts. “They were asking for it.”

He’s not going to tell Kisame that he can't remember the last time he took this much, that he actually feels _full_ for the first time in decades. There's a buzzing under his skin, a thrum deep in his chest that makes him shiver, and he feels _hot_ all the way down to his bones. It’s been so long that he’s gotten used to the edge of pain that comes with always being hungry, always being short on blood, and the absence of that feeling right now is staggering.

He hasn’t felt this good since Madara turned him.

Kisame chuckles, an edge of sharpened teeth showing. “Good for you. No helmet this time, then?”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Obito tells him, and knees him hard in the thigh.

With a laugh, Kisame pulls away from the curb, turns a lazy loop in the middle of the one-way street, and then guns the engine, heading for the edge of the city. Obito's steady enough this time to lean back slightly, taking in the view as they wind through the streets and then head across the bridge. The lights flash past them, then fade away behind as the city disappears, and Obito raises his head to take in the flicker of stars appearing out of the darkening sky.

Hells, but the very, _very_ last thing he wants right now is to go back to Madara's compound.

What he _actually_ wants is to go back to Kakashi’s safehouse, to slip back into the role of feeder on the run and stay there with Kakashi’s easy acceptance and awkward kindness. If he could have stayed, have kept playing that part and kept Kakashi from ever knowing what he actually is—

Well. It wouldn’t have worked. Obito might be a weak vampire, but he’s still a _vampire_ , and eventually something would have given him away. Kakashi would have staked him immediately, and that would be the end of it. And, despite everything, Obito has never, ever wanted to die. If anything, he’s clung to life more stubbornly than most, because his own existence is all he has, and he’s not about to let anyone take it away from him.

His scars ache, just a little, and he closes his eyes against the rush of the wind, trying not to think about how he got them. Madara's an asshole, and that’s never changed.

Kisame turns off the main road, and the shadows of the trees fall over them, heavy and stifling. The glow from the headlight cuts through the gloom enough to show the track, and then the stand of moss-covered boulders that hides the back entrance. The bike passes straight through the illusion, then glides down the ramp and into the garage, and as soon as they’ve come to a halt Obito slides off.

“Thanks, Kisame,” he says halfheartedly.

Kisame claps him lightly on the shoulder, clearly not taking offense. “Go on. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Obito rolls his eye at the man, turning away. There's a back hall that cuts behind the audience chamber, and since he’d rather not confront any of Madara's guests before he talks to his Sire, he takes that, offering Kisame a wave over his shoulder before he steps into the passageway. The cells where Madara keeps his prisoners is only a few short halls from here, and Obito hesitates over the thought, thinking of Mikoto, of how she had the balls to sneak back into Madara's court after she’d already escaped once. If he goes now, plays like Madara sent him to get her ready—

His scars twinge, his breath catches. He shakes himself, gritting his teeth, and looks away from the door that leads down to the cells, because Madara has _proven_ that while Obito is his favorite toy, he has no compunctions about actually taking things out of his hide if Obito displeases him. The months Obito spent locked away in a lab with one of Madara's pet sorcerers can attest to that, and though Obito can't remember most of it, he remembers enough. Enough to be willing to do almost anything to keep it from happening again.

He breathes out. Maybe…

But not right now. Not yet. Right now Madara is waiting, and he’s impatient at the best of times, even if he’s ancient. Obito isn’t stupid enough to keep him waiting, not when Madara probably already knows he and Kisame made it back.

Shoving all thoughts of Mikoto down deep, Obito focuses on his anger, on the indignity that’s devoured everything in his life. Better to play to what Madara expects, to be furious and offended rather than plotting. If he’s careful, if he’s quick, there might be a chance to try something. But he has to find the opportunity first.

Fugaku is just leaving as Obito steps through the illusion of solid stone and into Madara's hall, and the man gives him a faintly sour look but doesn’t pause. Obito isn’t so petty as to make a face at his retreating back, but he thinks about it, sending a glare over his shoulder as he heads for Madara's door. It’s closed, but he doesn’t bother knocking before he pushes it open and slips in, turning to close it behind him.

Obito would have sworn he didn’t see anyone else in the room, but the moment his back is turned hands close around his shoulders, and he stiffens hard, almost jerking away as lips press to his throat. He isn’t able to stifle a twitch of muscles, and Madara chuckles, low and satisfied.

“Obito,” he murmurs, and Obito shivers at the feel of it, at the heat of Madara's mouth against his skin, his name on Madara's lips. He leans back, not able to help himself, and Madara strokes lightly down his arms, then wraps himself around Obito and buries his face in his shoulder. “Mm. You’ve fed, and quite a lot at that. What a greedy brat you are.”

“I thought that was what you _wanted_ ,” Obito retorts. “You're the one who told me to feed.”

Madara laughs, low and mocking, and tips his head enough to look up at Obito with one eye, the edges of his smirk all too visible. There are fingertips sliding under Obito's tank top, and for once they feel cool against his skin instead of hot, but they still make him suck in a sharp breath as they press over his stomach.

“And you're always so obedient,” Madara tells him, and with the press of his lips against Obito's throat it’s impossible to tell if he’s being sincere or just a sarcastic asshole again. “Such a good boy, Obito. So _good_ for me.”


	6. Girt was he in a garment black and red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sex stops at the paragraph break if you're intending to skip it - after that Madara acts like a controlling bastard, and there's biting, but nothing more explicit. There's a couple of plot-important points listed in the end notes, if you do skip down.

Hells. Madara is in one of _those_ moods, and Obito has to swallow a whine, high and sharp in his throat as he pushes back into the weight of Madara's body against him. Thick, silken hair slides across his skin as Madara unzips the hoodie and pushes it off, tumbles down over Obito's shoulder and makes him shiver. He tilts his head, ready to offer what he _knows_ Madara wants, but Madara doesn’t do more than hum lightly and kiss the angle of his jaw. He shifts away, just enough to turn Obito around, and then pushes him back again, right up against the door.

Obito gasps, arches into the touch even as he reaches for Madara, wraps his arms around the man’s neck and pulls him closer. Madara ducks his head, dragging his mouth along Obito's collarbone, and then kisses the curve of his shoulder.

“Look at you,” he breathes, and catches Obito's eye with a pleased smirk that sends heat streaking through Obito's veins. “So lovely, aren’t you? My favorite in all things, Obito.” Another kiss, slow and deliberate with just the barest press of teeth against the curve where neck meets shoulder, and then he’s pulling away completely.

Obito makes a sound of desperate protest, grabs for his Sire like he can force Madara to keep going, but strong hands catch his, keeping them away, and Madara steps far enough back that Obito can't even feel the heat of his body. He gasps out something that could be a denial, moves to follow and trips when his legs give way, landing hard on the floor on his knees. He’s shaking, and he _hates_ it, but even more than that he just wants Madara to _keep touching him_.

With a chuckle, Madara bends over him, sliding one hand up his throat to tip his head back, and Obito whines, presses up, and is rewarded by a slow, thorough kiss. Madara's fangs are out, skim his tongue as he opens for Madara's mouth, and the prick of pain as they cut flesh makes him gasp. The hot-sweet burn of blood fills his mouth, pulling a sound of hungry satisfaction from Madara, and he licks into Obito's mouth, kisses him bruisingly hard and steals the blood he drew with a thoroughness that leaves Obito gasping.

Obito feels dazed and shivery, thoughts fogged with a haze of heat and blind desperation. His wrists are still in Madara's grip, held loosely in one hand, but Obito doesn’t even try to pull away, just forces himself to keep breathing as Madara cups his cheek and lays a kiss on his brow.

“Madara,” he manages, swallows as Madara's thumb drags across his cheekbone, and tries to focus on anything but the heat building low in his gut.

Fangs scrape his lip for a brilliant, burning second before Madara leans away, shifts his hold on Obito's wrists until he’s gripping his hands, and then pulls him up and onto his feet. “I missed you, my cute little brat,” Madara croons, and his next kiss is just as hard and drugging as all the others. “Look at you, so flushed with blood. You did exactly what I told you, didn’t you?”

It wasn’t for _him_ , Obito wants to protest, but the words tangle in his throat under the weight of Madara's praise, his attention and _want_. Nothing new, not really, but the feel of it burns right down through him, sinks into the fractured, scattered bits of Obito that still want nothing more than Madara's kindness, the fragments of the idiotic twenty-year-old who was so desperate for affection that he immediately gave himself over to the beautiful, attentive man who so readily offered his attention.

Madara laughs, because of course he _knows_ , he’s always known. He doesn’t mock, though, just gently pulls Obito towards a stool placed in the center of the floor, stills him with a hand on his hip, and then slides around to press himself up against Obito's back, arms curling around his waist again. It’s instinct for Obito to reach up, burying his fingers in Madara's hair as he tips his head to bare his throat, but again all Madara does is lightly kiss his jugular, flicking his tongue across the rapid beat of Obito's pulse. His hands slide down, find the button of Obito's jeans and ever so lightly brush across his hardening cock, and Obito groans, thrusts up into the touch and feels Madara hum against his skin.

“Is there something you want?” he teases, catches Obito's earring between his teeth and tugs just enough for the impure silver to make it burn.

Obito gasps out a ragged breath, laying his free hand over Madara's to put more pressure on his cock. It’s automatic, doesn’t leave room for thought, and only after he’s done it does he realize Madara might object to the presumption. His stomach clenches, and he makes to jerk his hand away—

Madara twines their fingers together, strokes Obito firmly through the fabric, and breathes out into the curve of his shoulder. Another stroke, dragging up, and then he cups Obito's cock with their tangled hands while his free one eases the zipper down. Fangs skim Obito's collarbone, not nearly hard enough to break the skin, and he whimpers, not sure whether he wants to thrust forward into the hand on him or back into Madara's mouth.

“Shh,” Madara soothes, stroking a hand down Obito's hip. “There's a good boy. So pretty and willing, aren’t you? I love it.”

Hells, but Obito can't even _think_ through the burning wave of arousal that leaves him breathless, steals his voice and any desire to pull away. There's a flash of thought, an image of grey eyes and white hair, but it vanishes under a wash of trembling heat as Madara gets a hand inside his jeans, wraps his fingers around him and strokes lightly.

“Please,” Obito breathes, not even sure what he’s asking for but willing to take anything at this point. “Madara—Madara, _please_ , I want—”

“ _So_ good,” Madara says again, and there's a smug smirk in the curve of his mouth as he kisses Obito's jaw. “The best thing I ever made, aren’t you? You're all I need, Obito.”

 _Hells_. It’s everything Obito has ever wanted and hated all at once, but here, like this, hearing Madara purr those words into his ear as he eases Obito's jeans down, Obito can't entirely fight the flare of deep-seated joy, the thrill that goes through him. _Best thing I ever made_ , and Madara's said it to him before, likes to whisper it in his ear when he’s been fucking Obito for hours, but it always gets the same surge of desperate joy from him.

Madara lets go of his cock to slide his hands around to Obito's hips, and urges him to step out of his pants, then pulls him around again. A flicker of fangs in a hungry smile, a warp of shadows, and Obito's back collides with the wall, his feet leaving the ground as Madara hoists him up. He gasps against Madara's neck, gets his hands in dark hair as Madara pins him in place, and only just manages to let go for long enough for Madara to peel the tank top over his head. Madara's still entirely clothed, the scratch of fabric against the insides of Obito's thighs almost maddening, and Obito leans in for a kiss, dizzy with need.

Madara teases him, lips sliding along his jaw and over his scars but never finding his mouth, and his hands curl around Obito's thighs, slide up to press fingers to his hole, and Obito gasps, throwing his head back as one finger pushes in deep. He shoves down on it, the dry drag inside of him making his stomach turn over with confused lust, and Madara laughs, low and intent, and kisses the knob of his throat with deliberate lightness.

“You’d let me take you just like this, wouldn’t you?” he murmurs, and the careful press of fangs makes Obito whine and go still, waiting breathlessly. He would, he _wants_ Madara to, would do anything at all to get Madara to bite him, to take his blood.

“Anything,” he swears, arching back into the wall just to feel Madara's rock-steady hold on him. Madara's strong, more than just physically, but Obito never remembers it as much as he does at times like these.

With a chuckle, Madara shifts his grip, holding Obito up with one hand and the press of his body, and reaches into his back pocket. There's a rustle, a pause, and then three fingers are sliding into Obito all at once, wrenching a cry from his throat as he’s suddenly stretched. The dry finger from Madara’s other hand is still in him as well, and it’s so much it _hurts_ , aches sharply all the way through him, but Madara just kisses him hard enough to bruise his lips and orders, “Wrap your legs around me.”

Obito's already done it before he even thinks about disobeying, has his knees locked around Madara's sides and his ankles crossed behind his back in an instant, and Madara makes a sound of pleasure that vibrates down to Obito's core.

“There we go,” Madara croons, hefting Obito up as he shoves in deeper, and Obito yelps, sinking down on the fingers all the way to the knuckle, and the spike of _want_ that slams through him forces his breath out on a high, desperate moan, makes him clamp down around the stretching press of fingers stroking into him—

Needle-sharp teeth sink into the muscle of his chest, and pleasure explodes through Obito's nerves, so sudden and sharp that it’s on the very edge of pain. He comes with a wail, drowning in the rush, every muscle winding tight in an instant as Madara's lips seal against his skin, suckling lazily. The fangs slide out of his skin, and Madara's mouth drags left even as Obito gasps and twists against him. The pleasure is still cresting, but Madara bites him again, higher up on his shoulder above his heart, and Obito jerks in his hold, head slamming back against the wall as he arches into Madara. He can't draw a full breath, can't do anything but ride the deep press of Madara's fingers inside of him and the burning bliss of his mouth.

There's no time to come down, either—those teeth sink into his skin a third time, right below his collarbone, and then slide out almost immediately, drawing a shivery cry from Obito. Madara licks the trickle of blood from his skin, slow and careful, and slides another finger up into him. Obito squirms, breathless and so full he can't think, and tightens his legs, trying to pull Madara closer. He can feel the impossibly hard line of his cock through his pants, and right now the only thing he wants more than another bite is that dick inside him, deeper than fingers can get.

“Shh,” Madara tells him, and just the very tips of his fangs break Obito's skin before they're withdrawing again. The hot trickle of blood down Obito's chest makes him shiver, and Madara licks it away with long, slow drags of his tongue. “Why don’t you get my cock out, there's a pet.”

Obito immediately slides a clumsy hand between them, fumbles for the zipper and the button. He shoves Madara's pants open, then down, gets fingers around Madara's cock and tries desperately to line it up, to cant his hips enough to get it inside of him. He can't, though—Madara's too close, pinning him too fully, and when Obito makes a sound of wrecked frustration he just laughs.

“Such a slut,” he breathes, right against Obito's lips, and Obito's breath catches as something cold flashes through him. In the same instant, though, Madara slides his fingers out of him, grips his ass, and shoves up and in with one hard thrust. Obito shouts, but Madara slams their lips together and swallows it, fangs scraping his lips hard enough to draw blood as he devours Obito's mouth, hard and overwhelming. The inexorable slide of Madara's retreat, then the almost punishing snap of his hips to drive him home again, makes Obito wail, and he rakes his fingernails across Madara's shoulders, twists like he wants to get away. This angle is almost too deep, too hard, leaves him feeling cleaved open and entirely vulnerable, and he jerks away from the kiss, throws his head back—

Madara bites him, sinks his teeth into Obito's throat and lets the blood spill, and Obito isn’t even hard, but it feels like an orgasm all the same, tears through him with the force of a train wreck and slams every last bit of breath from his lungs. His body clenches as white lights burst behind his eyes, but Madara doesn’t pause, fucks him through it until Obito is keening, jerking in his hold. One last swallow and Madara pulls his mouth away, but instead of stopping, he presses his teeth to the other side of Obito's throat, slow, deliberate, careful. It’s gradual enough that Obito can feel his skin give way beneath the points, and he whimpers, legs slipping.

Madara's hands catch him, pull his thighs up, but it’s enough to change the angle, to drag Madara's cock right across his prostate, and that’s too much. Obito cries out, head falling back, nails digging grooves into Madara's skin, and Madara's cock is a relentless drive inside of him, in in in and then dragging out, slamming home hard enough that there will definitely be bruises on Obito's back, and he wants to get away, wants it to keep going—

Yet another bite, high on his throat, and Obito's head is spinning, darkness edging his vision. He feels another dry orgasm building, painfully hot as it twists through his nerves, and Madara drags his mouth away, drives his teeth into Obito's skin, draws blood up through the bite in a long, slow pull that makes Obito scream. Every inch of his body feels like a live current, burning and tingling and about to burst, and he shakes apart a third time under the assault, darkness exploding behind his eyes to swallow everything.

 

 

The ache is the first thing Obito registers, sharp fragments of pain traced through his body, and he groans, opening his eye carefully. He feels noticeably weaker, woozy with blood loss, and it’s no wonder why; a single glance down is enough to see the bites littered across his chest, not to mention the ones on his neck. Too many, and Madara drank from all of them.

So much for feeling good, Obito thinks sourly, pushing himself up off the floor. He’s cold, shivering against the stone, because of course Madara just _left him_ , the bastard. At least he had the decency to wipe the come off of Obito's skin, but when Obito shifts he can still feel it inside of him, the slickness of the lube and the heavy ache that means Madara used him thoroughly.

 _Slut_ , Obito remembers, all too vivid, and has to grit his teeth to keep from swearing out loud at himself. Madara's always a bastard, always a fucking prick, and after five decades Obito should stop forgetting that.

He just…wants it to be different, sometimes. Wants it so badly that desire colors everything else, because he’s a _fucking idiot_.

There's a low chuckle from behind him, and then a hand slides into Obito's hair. Madara tips his head to the side as he leans over him, admiring the marks he left, and then orders, “Up, brat. You're coming with me to court tonight.”

All Obito wants to do is curl up in bed somewhere, preferably with lots of blankets, and sleep until he feels steady again. But even so, he pushes himself to his feet, a supporting hand against the wall, and snarls, “You _asshole_. What the fuck was that for?”

Madara smirks at him, curling a hand around the nape of his neck and steering him towards the stool near the bed. Obito wants to resist, wants to protest, because anything close to the bed is dangerous right now with Madara in this kind of mood, but before he can Madara deliberately presses a thumb over one of the bites, putting just enough pressure behind it to make Obito jerk, and then pushes him down to sit.

“It’s your own fault you looked so delicious, coming back brimming with blood like that,” he says silkily, and his thumb lingers there for a  second before he’s pulling away again. “Eat less next time and I won't take as much.”

That’s a fucking lie, and Obito knows it. Madara will take exactly as much as he wants, whenever he wants, and outside factors have nothing to do with it. “If you want me in court I have to be able to _stand_ ,” he growls, and tenses when Madara grips his chin.

Madara tuts at him, though he’s still smirking. “Stand? Oh no. You’re going to be with me all night, pet. It wouldn’t do to leave you somewhere an assassin could get you.” He tilts Obito's head up, eyeing him critically, and then takes a cloth from the nightstand and carefully wipes his face.

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Obito retorts, though he doesn’t move. “Oh, _that’s_ believable.”

With a sound of amusement, Madara drops the cloth and picks up an eyeliner pencil. “ _Goodness_?” he mocks. “Oh no, brat. You'll sit with me all night, with everyone’s eyes on you. Let _everyone_ see just how you snap and snarl and obey me anyway. Like a cute little dog, trying to convince the world he has teeth.”

Obito snaps at Madara's fingers, entirely to make a point, and just feels his fangs skim flesh. There's a hiss, and then his entire cheek explodes with pain, the force of the blow almost sending him tumbling from the stool. He yelps, trying to recoil, but Madara's hand pins him in place, forces his head back up. The smirk is gone, replaced with a dangerous blankness, and Obito swallows but doesn’t regret it.

“I'm not a dog,” he grits out.

Madara stares at him for a long, long moment. “No,” he agrees coolly. “You're most certainly not. Even the most stubborn dog can be brought to heel eventually. But you—you, brat, are very close to being more trouble than you're worth.”

Dread flickers through Obito, curls around his heart, and he has to force himself to breathe as his pulse trips into double-time. Madara might like the taste of his blood, might like to fuck him more than he does other people, but that hardly means Obito is irreplaceable. His six months in the labs showed him that all too clearly.

With that thought so close, he stays perfectly still as Madara presses his eye closed, sweeps a thumb over the lid in a gesture that’s entirely threat, and then follows with the silken brush of the eyeliner. He struggles with words for a moment, thinks of just staying silent and letting Madara work his pique out by himself, but—

But he was just thinking about opportunities and leaving himself openings, creating leeway. He can't do that with Madara in a snit. Taking a careful breath, he swallows, waits until Madara's pulled the pencil away, and then looks up to meet his gaze with as much sincerity as he can fake.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and it burns like acid, but he still manages to get it out. He ducks his head, looks up through his lashes as best he can and slides off the stool to kneel at Madara's feet, reaching up to rest his hands against his Sire’s thighs. “What can I do?” he asks, can't quite force himself to say _to earn your forgiveness_ , because even Obito still has some pride left.

There's a long, long pause, and Obito almost moves, almost gets up and gives in and lets Madara have his pique. But then a hand fists in his hair, pulling his head back, and Madara presses the finger he’d grazed to his lips. Obediently, Obito opens his mouth, lets Madara slide two fingers in so Obito can lap at them, long, careful licks as if he was teasing Madara's cock instead of his fingers.

(He wants to bite down more than anything, feel flesh tear and blood spill and bone break, but he holds himself back. The urge is so strong it _hurts_ , but Obito is used to pain, knows exactly how to use it. He wraps it up, tucks it away, saves it for the next time he needs to defy Madara. Because there will always be another time, so long as Madara holds his leash.)

Madara's fingers hardly taste of blood, just soap and clean flesh. If Obito tore skin, it wasn’t even all the way through, but for Madara this is entirely about the action itself. That Obito dared—

But Obito has dared a lot of things over the years, and Madara hasn’t killed him yet.

The fist in his hair relaxes, turns to fingers that stroke lightly over his scalp, and Madara chuckles. “Quite the little brat,” he says, pulling his fingers away. “So ready to bite the hand that feeds you. If you didn’t have me, you wouldn’t have survived a week in this court. So weak, but so cute.”

Obito swallows down the _without you I wouldn’t even be_ in _this court_ that’s pressing behind his teeth, looks down to hide the fury in his eye. He leans forward, resting his forehead against Madara's thigh, and focuses on breathing. Madara can think what he likes about Obito; he’s learned to be crafty after so many years, and if Madara underestimates that about him, all the better.

“I can still stay with you tonight?” he asks, because giving Madara what he wants is easy enough.

There's a quiet hum above him, and then Madara pushes him back, dragging him up onto the stool again as easily as someone else might lift a kitten. “Of course. What would I do without my favorite Child?” he murmurs, and there's a light in his eyes that’s almost avarice as he strokes Obito's scarred cheek. Then he steps away, and his body blocks Obito's line of sight, but he can hear a click, a faint jingle. A moment later he’s back, stepping up to Obito's side, and there's a hand stroking down the back of Obito's neck, over his shoulder. “Tilt your head for me, pretty.”

A faint shiver slides down Obito's spine, not entirely unpleasant as it makes his breath catch. Madara's certainly in a mood tonight, and it’s unsettlingly close to the way he acted when he first turned Obito, all pet names and careful touches and a buried edge of danger. Obito had _adored_ him, then, would have done anything for the man who chose him and changed him and treated him like something precious and valuable, even over the rest of his clan. It hadn’t lasted long, but—

Fifty years, and Obito has settled into loving Madara, even when the hatred buries those feelings. It’s always there, under the surface, and Obito would kill him in a heartbeat if he could but he’d mourn him bitterly afterwards.

He tips his head, feels a hand stroke his hair, and then Madara is unlatching the hoop in Obito's ear, easing it free. It’s not pure enough silver to burn unless it’s actually stabbed into a vampire’s flesh, but the absence of it tingles like the aftermath of static electricity, and Obito makes an aborted sound.

“Easy,” Madara chides him, amused, and he glides the back of his knuckles across Obito's cheek, then touches his ear again. There's another jingle, light and soft, and then feathery strands brush Obito's skin as Madara slips a new earring into place. Silver as well, purer than the last one by the way it feels, with a waterfall of thin chains falling past Obito's jaw. Madara clips the stud into place, then gently eases Obito's head straight and drags his hands across his bare shoulders. A moment later something wraps lightly around Obito's throat, and he freezes, going stock-still as Madara loops it once, twice, a third time, and—

Ties it, rather than pulling tight. A careful knot right below the hollow of Obito's throat, and Madara lets the long ends dangle down his chest. Obito reaches up, not quite able to help himself, and touches the slender length of black leather, scattered with garnets. It’s not tight enough to choke, but not so loose that he’ll be able to forget it’s there, either. A collar, even if Madara's being tasteful about it, and loathing wars with his automatic desire to lean into Madara's touch as his Sire kisses his temple, cupping Obito's shoulders in his hands.

“You're a joy to dress, my cute little brat,” he says, and Obito can't tell if it’s actually mocking or if he’s just so used to hearing the mockery by now that he injects it into everything Madara says. “You clean up so nicely, don’t you? No one looking at you would ever know what a terror you are.”

Obito can think of far worse things to be called, so he doesn’t object, just stays still as Madara moves around in front of him. He crouches down, lifting Obito's wrist and pressing a careful kiss to his palm, then his pulse-point. An involuntary sound wrenches from Obito's throat, halfway between a whimper and a gasp, and Madara laughs. Fangs brush the skin of his wrist, then sink in sharply, and Obito jerks, crying out. Madara's hum vibrates through him, but the man’s mouth is gentle, almost tender as he pulls his fangs free and laves his tongue over the wound.

“Shh,” he tells Obito, kissing his palm again, then wrapping another length of soft leather around his wrist. It does nothing to hide the bleeding bite—if anything, the flash of the garnets draws the eye right to it—and Obito swallows, feeling want stir low in his stomach again. It’s an automatic reaction to the bite, at this point; Obito's body is so conditioned to the feeling that he can hardly come without it, and Madara takes gleeful advantage of that fact at every opportunity.

Tying off the length, Madara shifts to his other hand, wrapping the bracelet with exaggerated care, and Obito closes his eye, tipping his head back so he doesn’t have to watch. No bite to his wrist, but Madara drags his lips up Obito's arm to kiss the bend of his elbow, and Obito has half a second to brace himself before Madara bites there as well. He shudders, gasping and trying not to curl into the pleasure as Madara draws several lazy mouthfuls of blood from his veins. Another chuckle, low and satisfied, and Madara pulls away completely, rises to his feet and then leans in, kissing Obito hard and quick with the taste of copper on his tongue.

“There we are,” he says, and his fingers slide through Obito's hair before they're gone again. “Almost ready, aren’t you?”

Obito doesn’t move as Madara circles behind him again, stays still as silk slides across his shoulders. A deep crimson shirt drapes over him, and he slips his arms into the sleeves, reaches for the buttons—

Madara catches his hand. “Leave it open,” he orders sharply, and Obito has to fight down a grimace, though he’s hardly surprised. Madara wants the bites he left on clear display, so of course Obito isn’t going to be allowed to cover them.

He should be used to this by now, but somehow he always manages to forget. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notable things, if you wanted to skip the smut:
> 
> \- Madara uses the line _The best thing I ever made, aren’t you?_ and variations several times. 
> 
> \- "A flicker of fangs in a hungry smile, a warp of shadows, and Obito's back collides with the wall, his feet leaving the ground as Madara hoists him up." <\- This line has plot hints that are being dropped again (first time was in the opening scene).
> 
> \- Madara takes blood from Obito. Repeatedly. And a lot of it. 
> 
> \- Madara is an _absolute asshole_ , but you probably guessed that already.


	7. And at his feet I marked a broken stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I felt so bad for Obito after last chapter, have another update.

“At this point you're just showing off,” Obito huffs before he can think better of it, but he lets his hands fall into his lap.

Madara's grin shows teeth as he keels in front of Obito again, black leather in his hands. “Of course I am,” he scoffs, picking up Obito's feet one at a time and sliding them into the legs of the pants. He stops there, though, leans forward, and Obito strangles a sound at the feel of Madara's long hair dragging over his skin. Madara grips his knees, shooting Obito a sly smirk, and leans in to press his mouth high up against the inside of Obito's thigh.

“You're my consort. What would I do but show you off to everyone?” he asks Obito, and those eyes are wicked. Teeth flash, too quick for Obito to brace himself, and he jerks against Madara's hold as fangs sink into his femoral artery. He can't breathe around the feeling, can't do anything but strain in his seat, not sure if it’s against Madara or into him. Barely a moment, though, and Madara is already shifting away again, licking blood from his lips and pulling the pants up Obito's legs with a showy sort of gentleness. Not being gentle for the sake of it, but to show Obito that he _can_ be, when it’s earned, and Obito isn’t sure if it’s soothing or just winding his tension tighter and tighter.

“Up,” Madara orders, and Obito staggers to his feet, dazed with pleasure, dizzy with it, as Madara pulls his pants up all the way, doing up the laces with a pleased hum. He tips Obito's chin up, studying his face carefully, and then smirks, winding an arm around Obito's waist. “Acceptable. Come.”

Obediently, Obito falls into step with him, casting a glance back at his boots, lying abandoned where he’d kicked them off earlier. He’s barefoot, but that’s likely how Madara wants him, so he isn’t going to protest. Bad enough that he can feel the faint throbbing of the fresh bites, particularly the one on his thigh, and the tightness of the cord around his neck. He doesn’t want to provoke his Sire any further.

The arm around him is something to be grateful for, at least; Madara's grip doesn’t give him room to stumble for the first few meters, and by the time they're at the edge of the audience chamber Obito feels steadier, more ready to face all the people that will be waiting. He leans into Madara, just enough that Madara will hopefully think it’s unconscious, and tries to ignore the twinge in his leg as Madara leads him up the four steps to the throne. It’s a ridiculous, ostentatious chair, and it fits Madara’s ego perfectly—massive and looming, black marble traced through with gold and cushioned with velvet. He throws himself down onto it, then gives Obito a smirk and pats one of the wide arms in wordless command.

With a scowl, Obito carefully plants a foot between Madara's spread legs, then hops up to sit on the arm. He goes to pull his foot away, but Madara clamps a hand over his thigh, fingers deliberately brushing over the bite, and Obito sucks in a sharp breath and goes still.

“You're an ass,” he manages, even though his throat feels thick. “I think a flashing neon sign would be more subtle.”

Madara scoffs. “If I wanted to be subtle, I would,” he says, ignoring the fact that he’s probably never been subtle a single day in his life. He strokes Obito's leg, light and languid, and waves an impatient had at the pair of shapeshifters guarding the door. “Let them in already, we don’t have forever.”

The two women immediately grasp the handles, heaving the intricately carved doors open with inhuman strength to show a crowd of figures standing patiently. Many of them are Madara's Children, but more are faces Obito only vaguely knows or doesn’t recognize at all, and he curls his fingers around a lip of marble to keep from tensing visibly. He’d known there were going to be a lot of people here—this was what Madara had him arranging that took him to another vampire court for a week—but there are more people than he expected. More powers, too; he can spot at least two sorcerers, the leader of the local nature spirits, one of the Nine with green hair and her gossamer wings folded around herself like a shimmering cloak of gold. Madara has been amassing power and gathering allies as long as Obito has known him, but to see the culmination of it like this is something very close to terrifying.

Madara's hand tightens on Obito's thigh, and he jerks his head around, immediately looking to his Sire. The man’s smile is as lazily satisfied as a big cat after a hunt, and he reaches up, tangles a hand in Obito's hair and pulls him down for a kiss that’s painfully hard. Obito winces before he can stop himself, mouth already sore from earlier, and closes his eye, trying not to think.

There's a flicker, though, a thought. Kakashi in the bright lights of that small kitchen, a loose arm around his back, the fingers in his hair gentle instead of gripping tight. A kiss that was light and careful and soft, without the edge of control Madara's always has. And Obito _chose_ it—he was the one to kiss first, and Kakashi just…let him.

Even when he’s feeling particularly benevolent, Madara never does that.

The hand holding him releases and Obito immediately leans away, shifting as far back as he can without looking like he’s running. Madara doesn’t seem to notice; his eyes are flickering over the crowd, cataloguing, assessing. He’s back to gripping Obito's thigh, but that’s ignorable, and Obito looks away, towards the edges of the people as they start to mingle, and wonders if Kisame is here. He’s powerful enough, without a doubt, but he also hates politicking, and he’s ducked out of important things before to go play cryptid in the river.

Obito wishes more than anything that he could be with him right about now.

Still, wishing won't change anything, and he has a nebulous sort of plan for tonight that he still needs to find an opening for. With any luck, Madara will get bored of him soon and let him join the guests, half diplomat and half pet performing amusing tricks. If that’s the case—

A flicker of pale hair, broad shoulders seen from the corner of his eye, and Obito jerks around, gaze sweeping desperately over the room. Moon-white hair and grey eyes, he thought he saw, but Kakashi is a Hunter, _can't_ be here without risking absolutely everything, and surely even a moron who likes to twirl his sword like a showy ass wouldn’t take _that_ dangerous a mission.

“Pet?” Madara drawls, almost a warning.

Obito swallows, tries to keep the shake from his voice as he answers. “Nothing. I just thought I saw Kisame.”

“I excused him,” Madara says with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Hoshigaki has already proven his loyalty, and I felt he might upset some of the more…pacifistic guests.” A faint wrinkle of his nose betrays his distaste for such people.

Obito isn’t listening, though—he spots pale hair again, turns towards the far side of the room, and finds the source.

It’s not Kakashi, and Obito doesn’t know whether the flare of feeling in his chest is relief or regret. The man escorting Orochimaru the Deathless looks startlingly like Kakashi, but he’s much older, and the silvery shine of his eyes when the light hits them right says he’s some kind of shifter. The sword he’s wearing openly says bodyguard, as well, and a Hunter wouldn’t be caught dead working for a necromancer.

Just a mistake, Obito thinks, but his heart is still tripping over itself, twice as fast as it should be. He curls his fingers into the lip of marble, tries not to let anything show on his face when Madara could be watching him, but it’s _hard_. Even a ghost of Kakashi, here and now, with the sting of Madara's bites under his clothes and an ache in his body—

He thinks again of that kiss, careful but steady, the look afterwards. Like Obito was something good and _wanted_ for more than just his blood and his body. Remembers walking away from that, because he hadn’t had a choice, because Madara would have _killed Kakashi_ , and—

Something inside of Obito fractures, and he digs his teeth into his lip until the taste of copper floods his mouth to keep from screaming.

Suddenly, Madara's touch is so abhorrent that he’s going to physically remove the hand on him if he has to endure it for ten seconds longer.

“Can I go down there?” he asks, almost tripping over the words as they clog his throat. There are no knives on him right now—all of them are back in his room, and it’s so _stupid_ , because Madara never likes him carrying them anyway so of course he won't give Obito the chance to go get them—but maybe that’s a good thing. Obito isn’t entirely sure he could be trusted not to try and slice Madara's hand off if he did have them. “I—Nagato just arrived.”

Madara's narrowed eyes are fixed elsewhere, his mouth pulled into a deep sneer as he stares across the room. Without glancing back, he waves a permissive hand, and says, “Stay close. If I catch you trying to sneak out, I promise you _will_ regret it.”

“More than I already regret being here?” Obito snaps before he can think better of it.

In an instant, Madara's fingers are twisting tight in his necklace, and he hauls Obito down into his lap with a jerk. Obito yelps, landing sprawled across his thighs, and only just manages to catch Madara's shoulders to keep himself from face-planting in the bastard’s chest. Madara splays a hand across his stomach, slides it up his chest and then grabs a handful of Obito's ass, squeezing deliberately. Obito hisses at the flare of pain, and Madara snorts, darkly derisive as he lets go.

“Yes,” he says coolly, eyes already shifting back to whoever he was watching before. “ _Much_ more, brat. Go.”

Grace and poise can go fuck themselves. Obito scrambles to get away, trips out of Madara's lap and then off the side of the dais. He doesn’t look back, just ducks between two groups and slides out of Madara's line of sight, heading for the far wall. What he said was true enough; Nagato is a few yards from the door, firmly on Yahiko’s left and draped in even more charms and beads than when Obito last saw him a handful of days ago. As Obito approaches, he glances up, eerie purple eyes picking him out immediately.

“Obito,” he says, with a welcoming smile, and steps forward.

“Nagato,” Obito answers, not able to resist a wry smile in return, even as his heart refuses to slow. “You made it.”

“You say that like we could miss it.” Konan, on Yahiko’s other side, is just as wry, but she nods politely even so.

Yahiko huffs at that. “We would have if Madara wouldn’t have used it as an excuse to visit us in person and _inquire about our loyalties_ again,” he says sourly, and then catches sight of Obito's wince and instantly flushes. “No, no, not what I meant! Madara's just a bastard, I mean.”

Nagato groans quietly. “Yahiko, remember that you owe us a dollar for every word you say tonight. So _please_ stop talking.”

Yahiko’s mouth snaps shut, and he scowls pointedly at Nagato even though he doesn’t say anything.

“A new way of making sure he lets us do the talking,” Konan confesses, _sotto voce_. “We decided it would be easier than hexing him every time he opens his mouth.”

Obito grins, mostly at the head of the local shapeshifter packs. “How did you get elected again? Or maybe _why_. At least when you were Madara's least favorite werewolf nobody cared how much you ran off at the mouth.”

“Least favorite because of _you_ ,” Yahiko retorts, and when Nagato clears his throat pointedly he makes an exasperated sound, digs his wallet out of a pants pocket, and throws it in the psychic’s face. “I _know_! Just take it all and leave me alone already!”

With a pleased hum, Konan plucks it out of Nagato's hand and deliberately slides it down the front of her dress, where it apparently disappears. “Thank you, Yahiko. I've been wanting a new set of arrows.”

Obito eyes Nagato's slowly spreading flush, Yahiko’s gaping, and snickers. “Yeah, you're not getting that back,” he tells Yahiko.

“Not like I was planning on it anyway,” Yahiko mutters, crossing his arms and leveling a pout at his second-in-command. “You know, swanmanes are supposed to be lovely and gentle and delicate.”

“Are you saying I'm not?” Konan retorts, arching a cool brow at him.

Yahiko’s expression shifts to disbelieving. “I saw you take out a _troll_ that wandered into our territory. With a _bow and arrows_. _Yesterday_.”

Konan looks unperturbed. “And what bearing does that have on anything?”

Nagato muffles a laugh behind one hand, even as he steps sideways out of the line of fire. He flicks a glance around them, judging who might be close enough to listen in, and then looks Obito over carefully. “Are you all right?” he asks, and the tone is still light enough that anyone passing might think the topic hasn’t changed.

Pointedly, Obito ignores him. If Nagato can't guess the answer to that after Madara's little fucking powerplay on the throne, he’s not nearly as intelligent as Obito's always assumed he was. “I don’t suppose you have any helpful hints about when I should try to stab the bastard in the back?”

The question usually makes Nagato roll his eyes, or at least smile a little. This time, though, he gives Obito a long, careful look and says, “You know my power doesn’t work like that, but…if you want me to do a ritual for you—”

Every inch of Obito's skin goes cold. _Hells_ , but Madara really would kill him for that, and he’d stretch the death out for _years_. Little bits of rebellion Obito can manage, but actively looking for a way to kill Madara? Asking an ally to do a massive working in the hopes that Madara would miss it, just to find a possible blind spot? That’s so reckless even Obito feels intimidated at the thought.

“Don’t—” he starts, but his throat clogs, and he has to cough hard to clear it. “Don’t even _joke_ about that, okay? I should—I'm going to leave and pretend we never had this conversation, all right? It _never happened_.”

Nagato's expression tightens, but before he can protest Obito ducks away, pushes through one of the thickest parts of the crowd and hopes it will keep the psychic, always wary of touching other people, from following. Obito isn’t one for retreat, but—some things require it. After that one time with Yahiko, it’s already miracle enough that _he’s_ still alive, and—

“Excuse—ouch, sorry, hang on—Obito!” A large hand catches his arm, right over the bite Madara left at his elbow, and Obito hisses automatically, spinning with teeth bared. Immediately, Yahiko lets him go and steps back, raising his hands peaceably, and says, “Sorry, you okay?”

Obito feels a trickle of wetness down the bend of his arm and can't quite fight a grimace. Madara's Children know that even when Obito's bleeding he’s off limits, but vampires from other courts aren’t usually quite so understanding. Not that Obito isn’t already bleeding in several places, so he can't even blame Yahiko.

“If Madara notices you cornering me, he’s going to skin you,” he says halfheartedly, and wishes it was an exaggeration. “Again.”

Yahiko grimaces, rubbing the scar that curves down the side of his face. “Good thing I heal, right?” he asks, almost a joke if it didn’t have the weight of history behind it. “Did Nagato say something to you? I swear, he gives _me_ grief about not thinking before I open my mouth, but—”

“It’s fine, Yahiko,” Obito interrupts, and that flare of panic is back, rising in his chest like a cresting wave. “Just—leave it alone, okay? I need to get back.”

Since he knows better than anyone why Obito can't leave, why he _doesn’t_ , Yahiko doesn’t try to protest. His expression slides into something grim, but he nods, and after a moment manages something like a smile. “See you around, Obito. Don’t get yourself staked by a Hunter—court would be a hell of a lot more boring without you.”

A Hunter like Kakashi, and that does nothing to help the surge of anxiety, the way all of Obito's muscles are pulling tight. He _hurts_ , somewhere deep inside his chest that has nothing to do with a physical wound.

“Right,” he manages, and turns away. Madara will be _insufferable_ if he goes right back to him, but it’s better than wandering the throng on the verge of panic, so Obito heads towards the throne, ducking an expansive gesture from a laughing blood mage. The man doesn’t seem to notice, though the auburn-haired sorceress he’s talking to casts Obito a sharp, dissecting glance. Easy enough to avoid her gaze, even so, and Obito lets his eye slide past her, towards where Fugaku is bristling politely at the Seelie king. Hiashi is bristling right back, while his twin, the Unseelie king, pretends he can't hear them, focusing instead on his teenaged son.

Talking to Fugaku is always a last resort in any situation, but he’s still better than Madara, Obito decides, and takes one step towards him—

There's a ripple of startled whispers as the crowd parts down the center, and Obito turns to the doors. A woman is just entering, head tipped up, crimson hair a fiery shroud that almost touches the floor. Even in a room full of supernatural creatures, she’s a vision, startlingly beautiful, vivid in a dress of deep copper threaded through with glittering black. Amused purple eyes sweep the room, flickering over Madara with disdain, and she stalks forward, full of predatory grace.

Another one of the Nine, Obito thinks, taking half a step back on instinct. He _knows_ Madara didn’t invite Kushina Uzumaki—not that he doesn’t want her here, because Madara is probably salivating right now, but she’s been ignoring him for over a decade, and Obito doesn’t think anything has changed in the last few days.

Somehow, his small shift, despite all the other people scrambling out of her way, is what draws Kushina's eyes. They narrow, and she makes for him, intent and unwavering. Obito feels a little like a mouse in front of a cobra, already starting to bristle, and as she reaches out he makes to duck away. Kushina is too quick, though; in an instant she has her arm looped around his, her body pressed up against his side, and she grins at him, all teeth and bloody humor.

“Well, well. _Someone_ is giving the rest of us some eye candy tonight,” she says cheekily, eyeing his open shirt. Obito's seen her from a distance before, knows she’s a small woman, but in her heels she’s precisely eye level with him, and that bruise-dark stare is unnerving.

“Yeah, Madara,” he snaps, trying to tug his arm away. Anyone in four-inch heels should at least _wobble_ when he yanks on them like that, even if he’s a weak vampire, but Kushina doesn’t budge. “Can you get the _fuck off me_?”

Kushina's grin softens, just a little, almost turning into a smile, and she curls her hand over his, gripping it lightly. “Oh, come on, Mister Grumpy, this is a party, isn’t it? Aren’t we supposed to be having _fun_?”

Obito is getting a bad feeling about this.

“Why are you even _here_ —” he starts to hiss, but Kushina turns sharply into him, forcing him a step back, and in the same motion she loops an arm around him, hand in the center of his back, and twists his other arm out, gripping his hand. She matches his step back, then pulls him one to the side, through a turn—

“What the _fuck_ are we waltzing for?” Obito demands, bewildered. “There’s not even any music.”

Kushina smirks, whirling them into a deft turn that has people scattering out of their path. “Most guys would be offended that I was leading, you know,” she points out, ignoring Obito's entirely valid objection.

Obito scoffs. “I'm pretty sure you could break me with your _pinky_ if you wanted to. If you're going to lead, I can't stop you.”

The witch slants him a look, somewhere between thoughtful and as sharp as knives. “You’ve got magic all over you,” is all she says, though. “Rin's a sweet girl, isn’t she? She and Isobu are pretty good together.”

Rin. Rin, the witch who Kakashi called. _Isobu_ , one of the nine minor gods bound to human vessels. Obito's mind goes blank, and he almost trips over his own feet, trying to rationalize the fact that sweet, pretty Rin is _one of the Nine_ and didn’t notice Obito was a vampire. Or just didn’t mention it to anyone—it’s hard to tell with witches sometimes.

“ _What_?” he demands.

Kushina laughs, bright and brilliantly amused. “Don’t look so shocked, pretty boy,” she teases, and spins Obito out with a flare. Too stunned to resist, Obito goes with it, and Kushina catches him, then steers them towards the far side of the hall. “You should eat something,” she adds lightly. “There must be someone here who wouldn’t mind, you know.”

Obito stiffens, tries to step away even though he already knows she won't let him go. “You should stop talking,” he growls, “ _really_.”

Kushina hums, entirely unimpressed. “I just think you’d be surprised by the results,” she says lightly. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Madara could decide that him being flushed with blood is too tempting a snack to resist, Obito thinks sourly, but doesn’t say. “Mind your own fucking business. I'm fine.”

“Yeah, but you could be finer,” Kushina tells him, cheerfully mischievous, and winks.

Obito can feel a smile threatening, entirely despite himself. “You're fucking _weird_ , witch.”

Kushina laughs like it’s a compliment, glances over his shoulder to judge how much space they have, and then warns almost gleefully, “Ready?”

In a fraction of a heartbeat Obito knows _exactly_ what she’s about to do. “Oh, fuck you, _don’t even_ —”

With a flourishing turn, Kushina dips him, one arm secure under his back and the other raised grandly, and Obito swallows a squawk and goes with it, looping a hand around the back of her neck—

His fingers brush skin-warmed metal beneath the waterfall of her hair, and his eye widens. He might not know a lot about women’s fashion, but that is _definitely_ not for decoration.

“Shh,” Kushina whispers, and dips her head to press a kiss to his scarred cheek, letting the fall of her hair hide their faces the same way it does the sword down her back. Magic flickers around her, sparks of gold that shimmer out in a moment. “Don’t make me hex you, pretty boy. This is a rented dress, and I’d hate to ruin it.”

The Nine are all terrifying, Obito thinks a bit faintly, and Kushina is _ridiculously_ so. He swallows, hardly daring to move, and breathes, “Madara?”

The light in Kushina's eyes is all vicious amusement and a healthy dose of warning. “Preferably,” she confirms cheerfully. “But first I’d like to get my girlfriend out of whatever torture chamber the bastard threw her into, you know? That’ll be a lot easier if you pretend like you never noticed.”

There's only one person she can mean, and Obito doesn’t even try to hide the flicker of relief that bolts through him. She’s here for Mikoto, and that means Mikoto is as good as saved. All Obito has to do is stage a distraction. Maybe this would be a good time to pick a fight with Fugaku, even if it’ll likely end with Obito getting his ass kicked.

“Hallway to the left of the throne, halfway down it, turn right,” Obito tells her. “Twenty meters down, on your left, there's another door. Two right turns, a left, middle fork, and left again. She’ll be in one of the cells.”

Kushina smiles at him, and this time it’s real and warm and gentle. There's gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks, pretty boy,” she says, then pulls them back up to standing and leans in, kissing him on the forehead. There's a spark of magic, like lightning arcing through his veins, and Obito's breath catches hard in his chest. “Remember what I said, you know? Things might end up going better for you.”

She pulls back, winks, and turns away in a sweep of swirling skirts, heading for the wildfey girl who hosts Chōmei—who’s standing bare meters from the mouth of the hallway—like that was her plan all along. Obito watches her go, then carefully reaches up to press a hand to the spot she kissed. It burns, but gently, like holding your hands just a little too close to the fire after a long day in the cold, and Obito swallows hard.

Life advice from one of the Nine is probably something to follow, he thinks. But he can't even begin to plan for it right now; all that’s left in his head is a deep, sweeping relief that he escaped a conversation with Kushina Uzumaki with his skin intact.


	8. Which sent up lilies, dove-like, to his knees

The night is almost completely dark, the moon only a thin sliver high up above the heavy clouds. Aoba should, probably, know better than to go kicking around on nights like this, especially in deserted places between other wheres. He’s been a Hunter since he was a child, more than long enough to have respect for the power within liminal spaces, the magic of places that lead to other places and carry people from one side of things to another.

Wandering around under a bridge on a night like this is just _asking_ to get eaten by a troll, and Aoba can already hear the disappointed eulogy Minato will no doubt deliver to his coffin, just to make him feel like dirt one more time before he _becomes_ dirt.

Still, it’s not like he _really_ has anything better to do. Gai is occupied with another of his classes at the gym—a queer youth support group, Aoba thinks, though Gai runs so many different ones he’s rather lost track—and their house feels echoingly empty. Aoba _wants_ to be out in the woods beyond the city, tracking the vampire nest they finally located like most of the Hunters are doing right now, but he’s just getting off physical therapy from that time he tangled with a gang of ghouls and Minato decided he should stay in Konoha just in case something came up.

So far, the only thing that’s happened is a bunch of pixies decided to fuck with some frat boys, and Aoba got to sit in a tree and laugh his ass off. He’s hardly one of the old-guard Hunters, decrying everything supernatural and refusing to use magic or leave any creatures alive once he’s encountered them. And besides, a bunch of frat boys looking for trouble? They totally got what was coming for them. Walking home covered in glitter and smelling like flowers will be good for their egos.

So. Nothing to do, a dead-quiet patrol, and an empty house just _might_ have made Aoba bored enough to contemplate things Minato would call _ill-advised_ and Kakashi would call _fucking stupid_. It’s fine, though; Aoba is experienced and armed and even has his crows with him, so no one can say he’s not prepared for just about anything.

And _besides_ , if he misses a chance to finally prove the thing in the river _is actually a fucking shark_ , he may as well just paint _MOCK ME_ on his forehead and parade in front of Kakashi naked. So there's that, too.

Still, because Aoba isn’t _entirely_ foolish most of the time—and Kurenai fishing him out of the river yesterday doesn’t count, because he was _fine_ —he hesitates at the edge of the barricade that blocks the underside of the bridge, then raises his arm. There's a rustle of feathers, and a crow flutters down out of the shadows to land lightly on his wrist, turning her head to eye him curiously.

“Macha, scout for me,” Aoba tells her. She drops from his arm and disappears into the darkness, and Aoba waits, crouched down next to a stand of shrubs. He gives it a count of one hundred once, then again, and—

A croaking caw, short and loud and startling in the night, and Aoba goes still, eyes narrowing. That’s her signal for danger, possible enemies; if it were Badb telling him that, Aoba might take it with a grain of salt, because she’s a bloodthirsty little thing who’s always spoiling for a fight, but Macha is generally cautious rather than an alarmist.

Wings brush his cheek as Nemain settles on his shoulder, utterly silent but intent, and she cocks her head with interest, watching the bridge. Reaching up to stroke her breast lightly, Aoba considers it, then offers her his fingers. With a soft chuff, she steps onto them, turning to look at him as he lifts her in front of his face.

“Can you give me a number, princess?” he asks. “Nemain, count.”

Nemain takes off with a hard beat of wings, and a moment later Aoba can hear Macha croak out a greeting. Another moment, and Nemain caws twice in short succession, pauses, and of her own volition adds the sound that she uses for ‘big’. Aoba can't help but grin a little, because he _loves_ his crows. Kakashi’s dogs can go suck it; his birds are as smart as any Hunter, and a lot more cunning than some. They're definitely the best backup, no matter what Kakashi claims.

So, if Macha and Nemain are right—and he’s sure they are—two people, one of them big. And since the girls are good at picking out supernatural creatures, he’ll assume that’s what immediately earned them the ‘enemy’ tag from Macha.

Well. Two to one isn’t the best odds, but Aoba's faced worse.

He breathes out, reaching for the length of weighted wire he carries, and coils it loosely in his hand, ready to throw. He has knives as well, in addition to the blade on the end of the wire, but knife-fighting is generally a little more up close and personal than Aoba likes to get. Kakashi and Raidō can keep their swords; Aoba prefers weapons that keep him out of biting range. Still, if he reinjures his shoulder Gai won't let him out of bed for a _month_ , and while that’s fun in theory Aoba's not the type to take to enforced idleness well. Last time he’d spent most of it planning ways to sneak out the window and get back to work, and probably would have managed it if Gai were an ounce less cunning himself.

Caution, then, is probably his best bet, and for all that other Hunters are a lot flashier—Minato, Kakashi, and Hayate all seem to think that flourishes and fancy footwork can make up for a lot in the way of subtlety—Aoba's one of the best at getting around undetected. He slips forward, entirely soundless, and doesn’t startle at the familiar rush of a bird soaring right past his face. Badb hasn’t gotten bored yet, apparently, which is a good sign; she’s generally the first to spot attacks, and she’s more sensitive to magic as well. Aoba relies on her eyes when his own are unreliable, which is more often than he’d like.

The bushes around the barricade give way to loose shale, treacherous and noisy, but Aoba's been down here to smoke often enough that he knows precisely where it thins, and picks his footing carefully until he can feel concrete again. The wall is at his right, massive struts casting even deeper shadows, and he stays close to them as he slips forward, listening carefully. There's a distant rush of cars overhead, more scattered than during the day, and the lap of water on the rocky shore. And, above that, two voices, close by and unconcerned about staying hidden. A woman, Aoba thinks, debating how much nearer he can get, and a man with a startlingly deep voice—likely Nemain’s big one. If either of them have supernatural senses, Aoba's going to be out of luck shortly, but between the noise and the smell of the river—not overly clean at the best of times, and even less so now, swelled by rain—he’ll probably be okay to get a little closer.

Six careful steps, edging around another strut, and suddenly the words are clearer.

“—think I called this meeting about?” The woman sounds languidly amused, and when Aoba warily peers around the edge of the girder he can just make out her figure, silhouetted against the city lights reflecting off the water. Tall and slender, with hair some shade of dark that’s been pulled up in a high topknot. No way to pick out more details without a spotlight, but Aoba's good at remembering voices—if he hears hers again, he’ll know it. “You asked for results, and—”

“I asked for _options_.” In contrast to the woman’s almost insultingly relaxed posture—and the insult is the point if it, probably—the man is drawn up, tense and angry. Aoba is close enough to make out his clenched fists, the way broad shoulders are tight. He looks like violence waiting to happen, honestly, and the fact that the woman doesn’t appear even vaguely worried probably says more than enough about her abilities. “Since you and your nest are going to blaze through here regardless of what we do—”

The woman snorts, folding her arms across her chest. “Your loyalty is admirable, for a traitor,” she says lazily.

If anything, the man bristles further. “I'm loyal to _my_ people,” he growls, and it reverberates through the air the way a more mundane noise wouldn’t—he’s some kind of creature too, then. “But if you’re not going to let me get who I need to out, there's no reason for me to be here.”

There's a pause, careful and deliberate. The woman stares for a long moment, and when she speaks again, a lot of the humor has fallen out of her tone, though none of the danger. “There’s every reason, sea child. You're a trusted figure, and I'm sure you know every path into Madara's little court, don’t you?”

Aoba's breath catches in his throat. Madara. Madara, as in the Master vampire outside the city, and the Hunters have been gathering information on him, but if Aoba's reading this conversation correctly, there's more going on here. Someone else is moving against Madara, another _nest_ which means it’s likely another vampire court, and they’ve got inside help.

Fuck. He needs to let Minato know immediately.

Before he can start his retreat, though, the big man laughs, sharp and edged with bloody humor. “You really think I'm going to help you, lady?” he asks, and there's a grin full of teeth in his voice. “I told you, safety for—”

“And I told _you_ ,” she interrupts, letting her arms drop, and the curves of muscular biceps are obvious against the backdrop of light. “We can't leave that much of the leadership in place. Pick someone else.”

A low growl. “That’s my _friend_ you're dismissing so easily,” the man warns. “He’s the only reason I didn’t cut you down the second you approached me.”

“That’s a shame,” the woman says lightly, but there's a flicker in the darkness, a shine of golden eyes. “This would have been so much easier if you’d just cooperated.”

The man laughs again. “Vampire tricks don’t work on me, lady,” he tells her, almost mocking. Definitely supernatural, then. “You think I would have met you here alone if they did?”

She pauses, head tipping to one side as she considers, and then hums lightly. “We’ll have to do this the _very_ hard way, I suppose. It really is a shame—loyalty like yours is hard to break. I won't enjoy doing it.”

The man stiffens, leaping back, but the woman—the _vampire_ —is already moving, barely more than a blur. She whips around, one leg lashing out in a kick, and the big man, who is a good two heads taller than Aoba and probably weighs as much as two of him, slams back into the underside of the bridge like he got hit by a wrecking ball. He grunts, hits the ground on his knees and shakes his head, staggering back up, but an instant before he fully regains his feet the woman slams into him, a hand finding his chin and smashing his head back into the metal. There's a splatter of blood, a pained roar, and the man goes tumbling sideways as the much smaller woman tosses him aside like a ragdoll.

Cracking her knuckles, the woman saunters over to loom above him, clucking her tongue. “Come on,” she taunts. “Up and at ‘em, tiger. If I have to go through the trouble of dragging the information out of you, at least make it _interesting_ for me.”

The man spits out what’s probably a tooth and a good amount of blood, pushing himself up again. “If you're looking for a fight, I’ll _give_ you one,” he growls, hunching in on himself like he’s about to try something—

Another blurred movement, and the woman sweeps his feet out from under him, elbows him in the face as he falls, and pulls a long dagger from the sheath at her hip. Its blade flashes in the faint light, definitely silver, and she flips it over, brings it slashing down and into skin in a splatter of blood—

Aoba whistles, high and sharp, even as he lets his coiled wire fly. There's a rush of wings, and Badb crashes talons-first into the woman’s face, shrieking like only a crow can. The woman cries out, leaping back right into the path of the wire, and the leaf-shaped blade on the end scores deep into pale flesh. She recoils with a hiss, flashing long needle teeth, and Aoba curses all vampires everywhere, grabs for one of his knives, and chucks it at her.

She catches it right out of the air, twists, and throws it back, and Aoba only just manages to get in front of the man and knock it out of the air with his wire.

“Well now,” the woman says, straightening, and wipes the blood out of her eyes. She casts a careful look at Badb as the crow comes in to land on Aoba's shoulder with a self-satisfied caw, and then hums. “You're not allies with this man.”

“Never seen him before in my life,” Aoba answers honestly. He tries to mark where Nemain and Macha are, but in the shifting shadows it’s all but impossible to pick out a pair of crows, even with his eyes. “But it sounds to me like he’s just trying to do the right thing, and you're making that a little harder than it needs to be, lady.”

She laughs, low and throaty, and tips her head. Badb must have caught the tie for her hair, because it’s coming out of its knot, sliding down around her shoulders to fall to her waist, but she doesn’t seem to care. “A white knight? How cute. Your familiar isn’t going to save you, witch, but I think I’ll leave you alive even so. You're amusing.”

 _Fuck_ but she’s scary. A shiver runs down Aoba's spine, and it takes effort not to step back. She’s not even _doing_ anything and Aoba still wants to go crawl under a rock and hide, which probably means she’s _old_. The way she was tossing the big guy around supports the theory, sadly; Aoba's good, but high-level vampires are way above his paygrade.

“Look, how about we call this a draw and all go home?” he asks, a little desperately, and very carefully doesn’t glance at the flicker of black-green feathers sweeping over the water. He’s still got at least one trick up his sleeve, and while it won't be enough to do more than mildly inconvenience the vampire, it will give them time to get away. “I could _really_ use a drink right now, and I'm sure you could too. Uh, the non-blood kind, preferably. Or if it is the blood kind, just—somewhere far away from Konoha.”

She makes a sound of amusement, feet sliding into a perfectly balanced stance like she’s ready to lunge. “You're _adorable_ ,” she says, and Aoba can't tell if that’s the tone most people use with precocious children or if it’s closer to the kind used on cute but misbehaving cats. He thinks he should probably be offended either way. “You're really going to risk your life for someone you don’t know? Just because he _might_ be doing the right thing?”

That’s kind of his _job_ , though since she doesn’t seem to have cottoned on to the fact that he’s a Hunter Aoba isn’t about to say as much. “You already said you weren’t going to kill me,” he points out.

With a chuckle, she takes a sauntering step to the side, only to pause when Aoba tenses, grip tightening on his wire. “I’ll certainly _try_ ,” she says, and the flash of light she’s passing through shows her fangs all too clearly in that feline-lazy smile. “But, well. You're all so _breakable_ , you mortals. Sometimes accidents happen.”

Yeah, _that’s_ not terrifying, Aoba thinks faintly. Gods, what is he _doing_. “If you're waiting for me to walk away,” he says tightly, “you're going to have a long damn wait, lady.”

There's no warning; in an instant she’s moving, a ripple of pale skin and golden eyes and long dark hair. Aoba shouts a tangled word, leaping back, and Badb explodes off his shoulder, the silver cuff around her leg flashing with blue fire. In the same moment, the matching cuffs Macha and Nemain are wearing light up, and the fire leaps from one to the other like colored lightning. It traps the vampire half a second before her hand reaches Aoba, freezing her completely. She hangs in midair like time has stopped for her, eyes narrowed, fangs bared, hair a banner of brown silk behind her, and Aoba feels the breath escape him in a wheeze as he stumbles back a step and sits down hard on the concrete, _far_ too close to the woman for comfort. He might not be able to touch her without breaking the spell, but thank _fuck_ she can't touch him, either.

“Just as planned,” he manages, trying not to think about how fast his heart is racing. _Gods_ but he hates vampires.

With a concerned croak, Macha drops onto his knee, while Nemain and Badb land on his shoulder and head, respectively. The cuffs they're wearing are still glowing, and they should keep doing so until the spell wears off. It’s one-use-only, and Aoba's never tested it before, but he’s unspeakably glad Rin was able to manage it right now. If not, he’d probably be vampire chow at the very least.

“Thanks, girls,” he gets out, and tries to pretend that his hand isn’t shaking when he reaches out to stroke Macha’s head. “My clever princesses, huh?”

Badb sifts her beak through his hair like she’s preening a chick’s feathers, and Nemain caws approvingly. When he offers her his hand, Macha hops onto his wrist, and from there steps sideways up to his free shoulder. Because she always has to be special, Badb drops off his bandana to nestle into the hood of his jacket, and Aoba winces and loosens the zipper a little so it’s not choking him. She’s small for a crow, but she does tend to like her treats a little too much.

With the three of them settled, Aoba pushes carefully to his feet, then turns and looks for the big man. He’s still on the ground, but at least he’s sitting up now, one hand on the long knife the vampire got him with. It’s hissing lightly where it’s buried in his flesh, and Aoba winces as he crouches down in front of him.

“Silver?” he asks, and the man gives him a tight nod, jaw clenched with what has to be complete agony. “Fuck. Okay, I know it’s bad to pull stuff out of the wounds they’ve made, but you’ll probably heal faster with that gone. Mind if I…?”

The man takes a faintly unsteady breath and shakes his head. “Do it,” he grates, and Aoba wastes no time gripping the hilt and pulling the blade out as quickly and smoothly as he can. It wrenches a grunt from the man, sharp and pained, but almost immediately the acid-on-skin sound stops, and Aoba digs a roll of bandages out of his pocket and wraps it into a pad. He presses it to the wound, grimacing at how it’s almost immediately soaked through, and says, “You need a healer.”

With a pained chuckle, the man leans back against the stone. “I fucked up,” he says, closing his eyes. “Damn it. If she’s dead—”

“Yeah, no, not dead,” Aoba cuts in. “Just, uh, temporarily frozen? Or temporally frozen, that works too. But the spell will only last an hour at most, so we should probably think about moving. Moving you to a healer, specifically.”

He grunts, but some of the lines ease from his face. “Almost as bad. If she’s still alive, her nest will be looking for me.”

No healer, then, Aoba thinks, stomach sinking. The witches powerful enough to heal are few and far between, and all of them are well known in the supernatural community. “Then I can hide you,” he says, and it’s one of the dumbest ideas he’s ever had, but he remembers _if you’re not going to let me get who I need to out, there's no reason for me to be here_ , and…well. Loyalty’s something rarely rewarded, in a vampire court, and this guy showing it says a lot that’s good about his character. And besides, he probably knows more about this nest that’s moving in, which is information Aoba _needs_ if he’s going to pass on more than a rumor to Minato.

An expression of surprise flickers over the man’s face, and he pauses, eyeing Aoba carefully for a long moment. “…You're a Hunter,” he says finally.

“Yeah, and if I wanted you dead I’d have let Miss Toothy over there take care of you for me,” Aoba retorts, ready to bristle.

Before he can, though, the man chuckles, pushing up to sit a little straighter. “She was right,” he says with amusement, a grin breaking across his face. “You're cute.”

Aoba squawks, but he can feel heat rising in his cheeks. “ _Excuse you_ , I am not _just_ cute, I am a ferocious Hunter and I just took out a vampire who’s probably _very old_ —”

“Three hundred years, give or take,” the man butts in cheerfully.

All of the blood drains out of Aoba's face. Oh _fucking hells._ Three hundred. That is—that is so far above his paygrade it’s practically in the _exosphere_. Anything over a hundred generally means _run away really fast_ , and three times that—

Yeah. Relocating sounds like an _awesome_ idea right about now.

“Okay, off we go,” he says quickly, and his crows take off as he slides around, getting one of the man’s arms—and wow those are huge, this guy could probably pick him using one hand and without even trying, and whoops, Aoba's brain is gone down the gutter but he has a _type_ , okay—around his shoulders and attempting to heave him to his feet. He only manages it because the man does most of the work, but he at least succeeds in steadying him once they're up. “My place is warded, so they shouldn’t be able to track you there, and I mean, just about the last place anyone would look for you is with a Hunter, right? So it’ll be fine—”

“You smell like another man,” Mister Muscular says, not offended, just pointing out a fact.

Aoba blinks. “Gai? Uh, I would hope so. We live together. But he’s cool, he knows, I mean we never _talk_ about it but it’s kind of obvious what I do. Oh! I'm Aoba. Nice to save your ass.”

The man laughs, genuinely amused, and leans a little more of his weight on Aoba. “Kisame. Nice to have it saved, even if it’s not something I'm used to.”

“Everyone could use a white knight at some point in their lives,” Aoba says grandly, and tries to pretend that his knees won't buckle if Kisame leans on him any further. They totally will, but that’s between Aoba and all the times he’s skipped leg day. “Okay, up the bank. I think we can get a taxi—most of the drivers are ghouls at this time of night, but as long as they don’t see my face we should be good to go. Uh, well, on second thought maybe we should aim for a non-ghoul taxi—they might be carrying a grudge, so—”

Kisame chuckles, gamely making his way up towards the road, even if he is using Aoba as a crutch. “Ghouls aren’t going to try anything,” he promises, grinning, and wow he has a lot of teeth. More than a human, and definitely sharper, too.

“Ghoul taxi it is,” Aoba agrees, swallowing, and whistles for his crows as they stagger towards the road.


	9. Now at their sight, my heart being lit with flame

Madara catches Obito's eye a handful of sentences into his conversation with the king of the local forests, and Obito knows exactly what the look means. He makes a quick excuse to Tenzō, then ducks away, hurrying to meet Madara as the man sweeps down the steps of his throne. Even though blatant displays of ass-kissing like what he’s getting from most of the people here tend to put him in a good mood, he’s scowling darkly, and Obito hides the grimace that wants to break across his face as he slides up beside his Sire.

“What, did you eat something that disagreed with you?” Obito snaps, even as Madara winds an arm around his waist and pulls him close.

With a snort, Madara tips his chin up, kissing the corner of his mouth. “If you ever _did_ agree with me, brat, I would know the death of the world was imminent. But if you’re talking about all that lovely blood you gave me, I'm feeling _very_ good.” He leans in, pressing a deliberate kiss to one of the many bites on Obito's neck, and Obito shivers, closing his eye as a spark dances across his nerves.

“Bastard,” he says, and it’s more tired than anything.

Madara laughs, eyes wicked, and steps to the side, pulling Obito with him as he crosses the floor. “Save that talk for the bedroom, brat. You’ll have plenty of time later.”

Obito swallows, and—normally it’s impossible to tell whether he’s feeling want or revulsion where Madara is concerned, but right now the only thoughts in his head are how to get to his room and find a knife before Madara inevitably drags him off. It’s been decades since the last time Obito truly tried to kill his Sire, but—

He closes his eye, thinks of the way Kakashi kissed him. Thinks of how his mouth feels right now, bloody-raw and bruised, and fights down another flicker of panic that bubbles up inside his chest. Regardless of loving Madara, he just—can't. Not again.

If Madara tries to touch him tonight, Obito will set him on fire again, the consequences be damned. And this time, he’ll have fifty years of stored-up anger driving him, rather than just one. This fire won't be put out so easily.

He swallows down the sick certainty that this can only end badly, the niggling doubt that climbs the back of his throat like bile and whispers how it’s not worth it, how he likes the sex and enjoys the biting and _slut slut slut_ in Madara's darkly amused voice, and—

“I hope you're having a better evening than yesterday,” Madara says, perfectly courteous, as he pulls Obito to a halt. Obito raises his head to find Orochimaru the Deathless in front of them, bodyguard looming behind him.

The necromancer flicks a glance at Madara, then a much longer look at Obito, gaze sweeping from the top of his head to his bare feet and back up again. It doesn’t linger, but Obito fights another grimace anyway, all too aware of how visible Madara's marks are.

“Indeed I am,” Orochimaru says coolly, though there's the faintest edge of a smirk to his darkly painted mouth. “Though I would hardly count yesterday as _bad_. I believe Sakumo enjoyed the chance to make himself useful.”

The shifter chuckles a little, stepping to the side as Orochimaru turns his head to look at him. He offers a hand, and the necromancer lays pale fingers over his palm, smirk shifting into something closer to a true smile as Sakumo dips his head and kisses his knuckles lightly. “That’s true,” the man allows. “It’s always nice to show off.”

Madara smiles, but it’s polite and verging on bored. “No second bodyguard, then?”

Sakumo and Orochimaru tear their eyes off each other—reluctantly, Obito can see that clearly, and it makes something like jealousy or loneliness turn over in his stomach, even with Madara's hand resting possessively on his hip. He swallows as they trade another glance, and then Orochimaru looks back at Madara. “Oh no,” he says lightly. “My stepson agreed to accompany us. He’s such a dear.” Golden eyes flicker up, into the crowd, and then he smiles. “Ah, here he is. Madara, my stepson. This is Kakashi.”

The bottom drops out of Obito's stomach.

He can't think, can't breathe, can't move. A wild impulse makes him want to bolt back into the crowd, run and run and run until this is just a bad memory, but his feet are fixed to the floor and he couldn’t shift them if he tried. All he can do is watch as a familiar figure slips around a Seelie girl, glances up, and comes to a dead stop, grey eyes widening as they land on Obito.

Like this, standing next to Sakumo, the resemblance is unmistakable, and Obito wonders almost hysterically how he missed it earlier, how he could have fooled himself into thinking there was no connection between Orochimaru’s bodyguard and the man he’d spelled and left. Stupid, stupid and _blind_ , and that’s always been Obito's problem, but—

“Kakashi,” Orochimaru says, laying a hand on his shoulder, and _hells_ but he’s beautiful. He was when he was dressed in a ratty jacket and worn jeans, covered in dog hair, but now, in a white shirt and sleek black vest, pale purple tie knotted precisely around his throat and twin swords strapped to his side, he looks elegant and dangerous, and Obito can't even force himself to meet his eyes.

“Mom,” Kakashi says blandly, and his voice doesn’t so much as _waver_ even if his expression is still wiped clean of any emotion. There's a faint sound of exasperation from the necromancer, and Kakashi amends, with the air of an old argument, “Orochimaru.”

Orochimaru isn’t so low-brow as to actually roll his eyes, but Obito can see that he wants to. “Kakashi, this is Lord Madara, and…?”

Madara wraps his arm more tightly around Obito, pulling him close despite how he stiffens, and something dark and _furious_ abruptly curls through Obito's chest. He wants to bare his teeth and hiss, wants to drag Madara's hand off of him and tear his throat out, wants—

Wants to get away, to somewhere Kakashi can't see the cord around his neck and the bites on his throat and chest, the way Madara's fingers curl over his hipbone. His skin _crawls_ , and it takes every bit of restraint Obito has cultivated over the decades not to turn and go for Madara's jugular with his teeth.

“My consort, Obito,” Madara says, silky and pleased, his eyes on Kakashi and the way he’s staring at Obito. The bastard has always enjoyed thinking other people covet what’s his. “Isn’t he the loveliest thing?”

Hard fingers tip Obito's chin up, and it’s obvious Madara plans to go for a kiss, but Obito doesn’t know what he’ll try to do if the asshole does, just that it will end badly for everyone involved. He grits his teeth, jerks out of Madara's hold and instantly ducks his head into the man’s shoulder, trying not to let himself shake with rage.

There's a startled pause from Madara, then a low, satisfied chuckle, and a hand strokes Obito's hair. “Feeling needy?” he says, almost a croon, almost mockery. “We’ll be done soon, I promise.”

Hells. Obito is going to try and kill him tonight. The cold certainty settles in his gut like lead, and he breathes out, even though it wants to shake. He’s going to try to kill Madara, and fail, and be punished for it, but with Kakashi’s dark eyes still fixed on him, with Madara still _touching him_ , all Obito can think is _it will be worth it_ , bloody and vicious and halfway to mad.

Kushina wants a distraction so she can rescue Mikoto? Well. Obito will give her the best one he’s capable of, no matter what.

It’s probably lucky that Fugaku chooses that moment to clear his throat politely, pulling Madara’s eyes to him. “Sire,” he says formally. “The Senju are here.”

Madara’s face instantly shades to contained fury and he whirls, catching Obito by the nape of the neck and pulling him along for a handful of steps before Obito manages to catch up. “Enjoy the night,” he says curtly, and then sweeps towards the doors with his long coat flaring out around him. Obito almost has to run to keep pace with him, and that’s _astonishing_. He honestly can’t remember the last time he saw Madara move quickly. There's that vanishing trick he can pull, but beyond that—

Other people move for Madara. He doesn’t move for them.

Even so, contrary to every experience Obito has ever had, the moment they’re within sight of the door, Madara bristles like a housecat and snarls, “Senju!”

A very tall man with long dark hair, dressed in red and black, turns away from attempting to make conversation with one of the bewildered guards and smiles brilliantly, which is _definitely_ not an expression Obito has seen anyone voluntarily direct at Madara before. “Madara!” he says, like they’re old friends.

Darkness warps, and in an instant Obito is staggering, thrown off balance by the sudden disappearance of Madara's grip. Madara himself is across the distance between him and the doors, and he reappears out of nothing with a hand around the man’s throat, slamming him back into the wall with a snarl that echoes around the room.

“You _dare_ ,” he hisses. “You _dare_ to bring him here after what he did?!”

There's a sharp breath, and the white-haired man a pace away growls, “Let him _go_ , Madara!” as he takes a half-step forward, one hand falling to the hilt of his sword. The temperature of the air around them plummets, and a whisper of something ghostly white and traced with red dances through the air. Crimson eyes narrow, and the man—the _necromancer_ —warns, “Do you really want to see how many spirits I can summon from within these halls, Madara? How many people do you think have died here?”

There's a long, fraught pause as Madara and the man in red stare at each other. Then Madara snarls, full of fury and disgust, and releases him, stepping back. He rounds on the white-haired man, teeth bared in a ferocious snarl, and hisses, “Someday, _Tobirama_ , I will find a way to wake my brother up, and that day will be your _last_.”

Tobirama looks both unconcerned and unrepentant, but before he can say anything the dark-haired man laughs like all of this is great fun and reaches out to clap Madara on the shoulder, making him stagger.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he says, and he’s smiling but there's still something about him that makes every part of Obito's hindbrain scream _danger_ in a way that’s not even usually reserved for Madara at his angriest. “We were passing through and thought we’d stop in.” Something flickers in his dark eyes, unreadable and gone in an instant. “I see you’re still using that trick.”

Madara scoffs. “You only call it a trick because you can’t beat it, Hashirama,” he accuses, and his smirk is full of vicious satisfaction. “Just give in and admit I’ve finally gotten stronger than you.”

Hashirama laughs, though Obito notices he doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he steps around Madara, coming to a stop in front of Obito, and gives him a friendly smile. “Well, hello. I don’t remember meeting you before. One of Madara's Children, I take it?”

“Obito,” Obito manages, and this close the _feel_ of the man is overwhelming. There's an air around him that feels like every moment of spring all wrapped up and given human form, brilliant and strong enough to raise a buzz beneath Obito's skin. He’s blindly certain that if he breathed it in for long enough it would be as intoxicating as any drug, and he has to swallow to keep from taking a step back. Madara is a force of personality, too, but—not the way this man is.

Even so, the grip of his hand is gentle when he takes Obito's fingers in his, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. “Madara's consort?” he asks, but if there's any judgment in his face, Obito can’t see it. Most people think _whore_ so loudly they may as well just shout the word, but…Hashirama isn’t.

Or, Obito thinks a little bleakly, he’s just better at hiding it than most.

“I am,” he says, and waits for the flicker of assessment, the dismissal—

Hashirama grins, as if he’s _delighted_ to be meeting Madara's favorite toy. “Well, you’re certainly a pretty one,” he says cheerfully. “Madara's taste is usually suspect—” He ignores Madara's hiss of pure offense “—but I think he picked well this time.”

Obito smiles a little despite himself, but—well. Anyone who can insult Madara and stare him down without hesitation is probably pretty decent. “You’re another court?” he asks.

“The Senju,” Tobirama puts in, coming up next to Hashirama. He looks Obito over for a moment, then inclines his head. “I see Madara's penchant for turning only those who look like him is as strong as ever. Though I shouldn’t be surprised—his narcissism knows no bounds.”

All right. This one Obito _really_ likes, almost enough to take his mind off Kakashi standing only a few meters behind him, fully aware of what Obito is now. Best to ignore that, though, or he’ll be verging on a breakdown in the middle of the court. “We’re supposed to be recognizable as a single clan,” he says, dust-dry, because he’s always thought that was one of the stupidest excuses he’s ever heard. Madara likes having all of his Children dark-haired and dark-eyed and pretty, the same way he likes his paired guards eerily similar from their clothes to their haircuts. It’s always struck Obito as more than a little ridiculous.

A small woman with masses of deep red hair snorts softly, and the boy next to her—a teenager, going by his looks, but Obito is willing to bet all the pints of blood he doesn’t have to spare that he’s actually a hell of a lot older—laughs, tipping his head. There's a cross-shaped scar on his cheek, the kind of thing that must have taken someone with an inclination to hurt a vampire a lot of time and effort to carve into his skin, but his dark eyes are just… warm.

“Are you implying that _we_ don’t look ‘recognizable as a single clan’?” he says, though his tone is light enough to make it teasing, and when Obito eyes him warily he just grins.

“That’s never been something I cared about, Kawarama, you know that,” Hashirama tells him. He turns, catching Madara's hand as it grabs for the collar of his jacket, and his smile doesn’t waver. “Don’t be stingy, Madara. Are you really going to throw us out of a party?”

“If I thought you’d go, I would do it in a heartbeat,” Madara snaps, jerking out of Hashirama’s hold. He whirls, and Obito takes an instinctive step back at the look of pure fury on his face. “Brat—“

“Tobirama Senju,” Orochimaru cuts in, gliding through the group to offer his hand to Tobirama like he hasn’t even noticed the tension. “It’s truly an honor to meet you. Your work is… unparalleled.”

Obito blinks, then turns to raise a brow at the man, because that sounded almost _sexual_ , in a way Obito hadn’t thought a word that innocent could. Especially coming from a person with _stepchildren_.

He doesn’t want to look at Kakashi, but the man is staring at Orochimaru with something very close to horror, so clearly Obito wasn’t just hearing things, either. Kakashi glances up—

Obito turns away, because he’s always been a _fucking coward._

Blinking, Tobirama glances at Orochimaru for a moment before his eyes sharpen with interest. “The Deathless. And your wolf,” he says, and nods to Sakumo, though his gaze immediately goes back to Orochimaru. “I’ve heard many things about you. Your own work is very interesting.”

It’s more than a little eerie to see a necromancer looking _rapturous_ , but Orochimaru certainly manages it well.

Hashirama makes an expression of despair, though his eyes are fond. “We should catch up while they entertain themselves, Madara,” he says cheerfully, turning to throw an amiable arm over Madara's shoulders. “It’s been, what, forty-nine years? You never answer my Christmas cards.”

“We’re _vampires_ , you idiot, we’re not supposed to celebrate _Christmas_ ,” Madara snarls, throwing his arm off. He doesn’t object when Hashirama follows him back towards the center of the room, though.

Obito _almost_ thinks he’s managed to escape—he takes one step back towards the halls that will lead to his room, thoughts split equally between getting away and getting his knives, holding his breath—

“Brat,” Madara says sharply, glancing back over his shoulder, and the expression on his face is vicious and smug and avaricious all at once. “Why don’t you show the Deathless’s spare bodyguard to a suite they can use. I’m sure Orochimaru can do without him for a few minutes.”

 _Fuck_ , Obito thinks, and there's something like panic crawling up his throat. He can’t even manage a sharp word in response, can barely nod, but apparently that’s enough to appease Madara. He disappears, Hashirama following close behind, and Obito _knows_ he’s going to have to turn around, face Kakashi, but he _can't_.

A hand settles on his back, right between his shoulder blades, and Obito flinches hard. Instantly, the touch is gone, and a body is moving around in front of him. Kakashi hums quietly, and though his face is still perfectly blank he says lightly, “We get a whole suite? How swanky. Why don’t you lead the way, princess?”

 _Princess_. Obito remembers the first time Kakashi called him that, the way he tried to strangle the Hunter and almost killed himself tripping over Bull, and can’t help another faint flinch. As soon as they’re out of sight of the court, Kakashi is going to kill him, stake him the same way he did Naka, and Obito can’t even fucking blame him.

Well. At least it will save Obito from inevitability failing to kill Madara, right?

“This way,” he manages, turns away to keep from having to meet Kakashi’s gaze. The Hunter just hums agreeably, and Obito can hear the quiet pad of steps following him even over the noise of so many people talking. It makes the back of his neck prickle, an instinctive reaction to a predator behind him, and Obito has to fight down the urge to turn and snarl. He can feel every muscle winding tight, tension sliding down his spine to coil in his gut, and he’s gritting his teeth so hard it _hurts_.

 _I don’t want to die_ , he thinks, and it’s almost rueful. He supposes there are worse ways to go than at Kakashi’s hand, but—

Obito has survived everything the world has thrown at him for seventy years now. At this point, even after everything, he doesn’t know if he _can_ give up.

They pass out of the crowded audience chamber and into one of the side passages, and the immediate drop in the noise level just serves to put Obito even more on edge. He keeps his eyes fixed forward, his breathing as quiet as he can make it, hyperaware of each sound Kakashi makes. The guest rooms are at the far edge of the compound, but it’s a straight path for the most part—there's no real _need_ for Obito to show Kakashi the way, and this sort of thing should be Fugaku's job anyway. But Madara saw the way Kakashi was watching him, wrote it off as lust, and decided to show off just how much of an asshole he could be by dangling something he thought Kakashi wanted in front of him. He’s done it before, and usually Obito plays the game well enough, knows how to pass on a warning without making it obvious, but this is everything he’s never encountered in a situation before.

“Obito,” Kakashi says quietly.

Obito's feet fix themselves to the floor, and he can’t physically make himself take another step. His breath is all knotted up in his throat, and his chest aches sharply. There's no possible way he can put any of his tangled thoughts into words, so he doesn’t try, just stands stock-still as those steady steps approach. Kakashi circles him, stops in front of him, close enough that Obito can feel the heat of his body, and in the poorly lit tunnel Kakashi’s face is unreadable, eyes fathomless.

There's a painfully long pause as Kakashi just stares at him, unmoving. Then, very slowly, he reaches out.

It’s not like Obito doesn’t see it coming, not like he thinks Kakashi is going to just whip out a stake and start stabbing, but he flinches, steps back sharply. Kakashi takes one step after him, and Obito's back hits the wall before he can even register retreating further. He closes his eye, just trying to force himself to breathe, and can’t help but listen as Kakashi comes closer, closer, closer.

“ _Stop_ ,” he gets out, and—

Kakashi _does_. He halts within arm’s length of Obito, but he stops moving, doesn’t step closer. One hand is on the hilt of his sword, his eyes are on Obito, but he doesn’t do anything but say, low and on the edge of sharp, “You didn’t tell Madara I’m a Hunter.”

“I don’t tell Madara a lot of things,” Obito retorts, bristling. The way his heart is racing is almost physically painful, and he _knows_ that he could shove Kakashi out of the way, shout for any of Madara's other Children or even Madara himself, but he doesn’t. Just stays where he is, hardly breathing, as Kakashi stares at him.

“You lied to me,” Kakashi says, and that’s quiet too.

Even so, Obito immediately snarls. “Fuck you, I never lied!” he spits. “Just because you’re such a bad Hunter you can’t even figure out when a fucking _vampire_ is right in front of you—”

“In my defense,” Kakashi says mildly, “you seem like you’re a pretty terrible vampire, honestly.”

Obito squawks, splutters, so offended he can’t even manage words. There's a soft huff from Kakashi, almost a laugh, and suddenly a hand is on Obito's cheek. Not holding, like Madara does, but just… there. Resting against his skin, a point of painful warmth even through his gloves, and Obito closes his eye despite himself, swallows, doesn’t lean into the touch but still can’t force himself to lean away, either.

“You call me a bad vampire, but from what I’ve seen you’re a pretty fucking terrible Hunter,” he manages.

Kakashi hums. “I’ll have you know I’m one of the best,” he says lightly.

Obito makes sure to scoff very loudly. “Going to prove it by staking me?” he challenges, sharp and angry, because he knows better than to think a handful of careful touches means anything at all.

Kakashi pauses for long enough that Obito opens his eye to look at him, and it’s still impossible to read his face, but there's a shift behind his gaze, a quiet roil of emotion that’s gone as quickly as he can tamp it down. The hand on Obito's cheek slides lower, careful and slow, and Kakashi’s touch hovers over the deepest of the bites, so lightly that Obito can’t even feel the pressure of it on his skin.

“I thought you were a feeder,” he says, eyes flickering up to hold Obito's steadily. “And then I thought you were a thrall. After seeing the way Madara acted when you were with him, I feel like both of those options would have been better than the reality.”

Obito's breath tangles in his throat. Kakashi _saw_ , not just the way Madara leads him around but that _fucking power-play_. Shame and fury in equal parts slam through him, and he grits his teeth, thumping his head back against the wall hard enough to sting. _Fuck_ , he thinks bleakly, and—

“Can I kiss you?” Kakashi asks.

Obito hasn’t cried in fifty years, thought the urge had been burned out of him when Madara turned him, but he can feel his eye sting, can feel the tightness in his throat. “Why the hell would you _want_ to?” he demands, and his voice cracks like he really is about to cry. “You saw—” And Madara hadn’t had Obito blow him, but Obito thinks of how it could have happened that way so easily, thinks of all the times it _has_ , thinks of Kakashi kissing him even when he just has the taste of Madara's fingers in his mouth, and wants to gag on the nausea that rises.

Kakashi closes his eyes for a long moment, visibly takes a breath. When his eyes slide open again, they’re full of something Obito still can’t name, but—it’s _warm_. As warm as the hand that settles on his skin, safely away from any bites.

“Does it matter?” he asks, and the words are still light, though the look on his face is anything but.

 _Yes_ , Obito wants to hiss, because of course it does, but Kakashi isn’t moving, isn’t running even though he should, and Obito is too selfish to make him, too _greedy_ , because their one kiss before was enough to change everything, and maybe Obito should hate that, but—

But he remembers the gentle press of Kakashi’s mouth, the soft hand in his hair, and his eye _burns_ with tears he hadn’t thought he could still shed.

“I would,” Kakashi adds, low and warm and steady, “ _really_ like to kiss you right now.”


	10. Nay, let us walk from fire unto fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may have noticed this is...uh, slightly longer than I planned (shut up, stop laughing), so chapter titles are now from Wilde's _Panthea_ , seeing as I was running out of lines in the other one.

Obito makes a sound that could be despair, could be desperation. Reaching out, he grabs Kakashi by the shoulders, pulls him close. Kakashi braces himself, forearms pressed against the wall as he dips his head, but he pauses there, waiting. With a sound of pure frustration, Obito closes the distance between them, fits his mouth to Kakashi’s and kisses him. Not hard, not bruising, but—he puts every bit of want into it, all of his need for something besides Madara's touch, and Kakashi hums quietly against his lips. He tilts his head, mouth softening, tongue flicking against Obito's lips. Obito gives in without hesitation, opens his mouth even though he can feel the edge of fangs present, and Kakashi makes a low, hungry sound, slipping in, tangling their tongues and pulling an involuntary moan from Obito's throat. He shivers, reaches up to slide his fingers into white hair and cup the back of Kakashi’s skull, and Kakashi drags his tongue across the raw skin of Obito's lower lip, gentle as he shifts and takes another long, slow kiss.

Obito is breathless when they separate, entirely dazed, and he lets out a shaky huff, a trembling laugh, and curls into the heat of Kakashi’s body, dropping his head on Kakashi’s shoulder. There's wetness on his cheek, and his chest hurts with an ache worse than any knife wound.

“Madara will kill you,” he says, and his other hand is on Kakashi’s sword belt, tangled so thoroughly in the leather that it will take effort to let go. “He’ll—fuck. Kakashi—”

“Shh,” Kakashi hums, resting his cheek against Obito's temple. “Why don’t you worry about yourself? Ūhei would be heartbroken if he couldn’t see you again. No one else spoils him like you do.”

Another laugh cracks in Obito's chest, sharp-edged and ragged, but he can’t bring himself to protest when Kakashi drops his arms from the wall to wrap them around Obito instead. It’s so _stupid_ , because anyone could walk by and see them right now, could tell Madara that Obito was kissing someone and then it would be just like the Yahiko disaster all over again. But—

“Why the fuck are you even here?” he demands into Kakashi’s waistcoat. “Hells, you have to be the stupidest fucking Hunter to ever make it past training.”

“Maa, I told you, I'm one of the—”

“Best, yeah, asshole, I heard  you. But that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with intelligence. You might even be proving my point.” When an amused chuckle shakes Kakashi’s chest, Obito turns his head enough to glare up at him darkly. “You bastard, I'm being _serious_.”

“I'm sure you are,” Kakashi tells him, the patronizing asshole. “I came to see you.” When Obito opens his mouth to call bullshit, Kakashi’s eyes crinkle in a disarming smile. “No, I'm telling the truth. We had no information about Madara's consort, so my dad volunteered to find out. We thought we could use them against Madara.”

It wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried that, though granted they’ve never had Obito’s cooperation for it before. He pauses, considering it warily, and then shakes his head. “Madara—he can do that thing. Like teleporting. You can't block it, even with magic.”

Kakashi hums, more thoughtful than worried, the idiot. “I saw. It’s funny—we have records on him in the Archives, but no one has ever mentioned that ability before, and it seems like the kind of thing a Hunter would notice.”

“Not if they're _dead_ ,” Obito points out waspishly. He pauses, then takes a breath and carefully detangles himself from Kakashi, standing up a bit straighter even if he doesn’t try to fully pull away. A glance up and down the hall shows it’s still clear, and he sighs, rubbing just above his patch. “Look, we should—everyone else here is loyal to Madara. We should get out of the open before someone notices us. I’ll show you the damn room and get back to—”

“You should stay,” Kakashi interrupts, and that tone is close to blithe but his eyes are serious. “Just for a little while.”

Obito stares at him for a long moment. “…You really are an idiot,” he decides. “I'm a _vampire_. You really want to get me in a room alone with you?”

Kakashi’s smile would probably be best described as _cheerfully lecherous_. “Maa, I was thinking we should just talk, but if you're in the mood for something more, biting has always been something of a kink of mine. I mean, usually _I'm_ the one doing the biting, but—”

 _Biting_. Horror splinters through Obito like lightning and he recoils, crashing into the wall of the passage as he tries to put distance between them. “I'm not going to _bite you_ ,” he gets out, strangled and too close to terrified for his own comfort. “Fuck, I'm not—I wouldn’t—”

All he can think of is Madara's teeth in his neck, the pleasure of it but also the fear, the way he can never even _object_ once Madara gets his fangs into him, like his will has been stripped from him completely. There's a reason Obito doesn’t feed from the bloodbags who hang around the edges of the court, even though most of them claim to enjoy it—everyone he targets is some shade of asshole, deserves comeuppance in some way Obito can justify, if only to himself.

The idea of just—biting Kakashi like that—

Hands catch his where they're raised, lifted like he’s trying to block some kind of lunge at him. Kakashi’s fingers curl loosely around his wrists, tugging them down, and he looks Obito in the eye but doesn’t come any closer.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, gaze unwavering. “It was a joke. I didn’t think—well.” He ghosts a thumb over the bite on Obito's wrist, and the lines around his eyes deepen a little. “I guess I just didn’t think.”

Obito isn’t shaking, but that’s mostly because he knows from experience how to hide his physical reactions. He swallows hard, back still pressed hard to the wall, and forces his lungs to work as he exhales a hard breath. Kakashi is still watching him carefully, and he huffs, pulling his hands from the Hunter’s grip. “You're still an idiot,” he says, more wry than intended. “But…not for that. Most vampires don’t care.”

“Despite what you seem to think, I _have_ encountered vampires before,” Kakashi informs him. “Many of them, even.”

Obito gives him a doubtful look and doesn’t comment. Ignoring the offended pout Kakashi levels in his direction, he ducks away, trying not to feel the loss of Kakashi’s warmth, and say, “This way. There's a shortcut back here that should keep you away from—” From Kushina and whatever she inevitably blows up getting to Mikoto, because none on the Nine are subtle and the greatest of them is even less so. On a good day, Kurama is a god of fire and wind and destruction; on the bad, he’s every nightmare of malice and blood the human mind can dream up. As his host, Kushina is no different, and regardless of his friendship with Rin, Obito doesn’t want to risk Kakashi getting caught in the crossfire.

“…Things,” he finally settles on, which is weak at best, but hopefully Kakashi has the brains not to go wandering around a vampire nest on his own. Oh, wait—

“Things,” Kakashi repeats, clearly skeptical, but he doesn’t push, just follows as Obito leads him down a wide, sweeping staircase and into a well-lit hall. Three of the doors are closed, but the one at the end of the passage is cracked, and Obito leans in, checking that no one is already staying there before he steps aside to let Kakashi in.

“Congratulations, this is where Madara puts the guests he wants to impress instead of eat.” Obito waves a hand at their surroundings, all gilt and cream and polished wood in overwhelming excess, because no matter how long Madara lives he’ll never grow a sense of taste. “The main doors back into the clan area are locked and guarded during the day, so—”

Kakashi catches his hand as he tries to slide back towards the door. “It’s getting close to dawn,” he says quietly. “You could tell Madara I kept you here until it was too late to leave.”

Maybe it’s the idea that should strike Obito, the help at ducking Madara, but—

What he notices is the phrasing. Not _tell Madara_ , not even _you should_ , just…a choice. An option. Obito could chose to take it, or he could not.

It’s a little ridiculous, how few times Obito has been offered anything of the like in his life.

He breathes out, shaky but set, and twists his fingers through Kakashi’s. It’s so stupid—there's no way Madara will believe that falling asleep in Kakashi’s room was anything close to innocent, which means he’ll _make sure_ , and that’s a humiliation Obito would rather not go through. But…from the way Hiashi and Fugaku were arguing earlier, they're going to fall into bed at some point tonight, and Madara doesn’t know that his eldest Child regularly fucks the Seelie King, so Obito has that much blackmail to hold over Fugaku's head. If Fugaku vouches for him, confirms that Obito slept in his own room—

Madara knows he and Fugaku hate each other, always makes sure to play them against each other at every opportunity, the same way he does all his Children. No one can be too powerful, no one can have too much respect. But it means he’ll take Fugaku's testimony as truth without looking into it further, and that’s all Obito needs.

Obito takes a breath and makes a choice.

“You know I’m not just going to be _asleep_ , right?” he demands. “During the day, I'm pretty much—”

He realizes his mistake about three syllables too late, snapping his mouth shut, but Kakashi beams, cheerful and innocent, and finishes, “—dead to the world, right?”

Obito stares at him for one long, judgmental second, then spins on his heel. “Fuck this,” he announces flatly. “I’m going back to the court, have a nice fucking life, you _asshole_ —”

Practically giggling, Kakashi catches him around the waist, pulling him back against his chest as he elbows halfheartedly at wiry limbs. “I’m sorry?” Kakashi offers, but the light in his eyes says something entirely different.

“No you’re not,” Obito retorts, aggrieved. “Shit, that was _terrible_. Fuck you. Just—fuck you, I'm going to _eat you_ —”

“I’d like to kiss you again,” Kakashi informs him solemnly, though his expression is still fully amused. With a sound of exasperation, Obito turns in his hold, grabs his face, and leans in to fit their mouths together. Kakashi is smiling, and Obito can't help the curl of laughter that slides through him as he fights down a smile of his own. There's a feeling bubbling up in his chest, something bright and effervescent, and he can't remember the last time he felt anything similar, but—

He wraps his arms around Kakashi’s neck, feels hands settle comfortably on his hips, and Kakashi hums into his mouth, thumbs stroking lightly across the waistband of Obito's pants. There's a definite effort being made not to touch skin, and while Obito appreciates the restraint he’s also more than a little aggravated that Kakashi could even _think_ he doesn’t want the man’s hands on him, given the way he’s currently sucking on his tongue. With a sound of annoyance, he untwists one hand from white hair, grabs Kakashi’s wrist, and drags it up a bare inch, to where his shirt falls open.

Instantly, Kakashi’s fingers slide under the open silk, splaying out across Obito's side, and Obito can hear his breath catch hard in his throat. He hums in answer, entirely pleased with the reaction, and Kakashi nips his lip, slides his tongue into his mouth and pulls him closer. It’s messy, messier than any of their other kisses, and Kakashi’s fingers trace over his skin in intriguing little spirals, warm despite the barrier of leather from his gloves.

Even behind closed doors, this is a stupid idea. But—Obito doesn’t care anymore. Kakashi is firm and steady against him, and this time they have the rest of the night to themselves. There's no need to run, to get out of sight. Just the slide of Kakashi’s hands up his side, the press of his mouth, leading and teasing, the way he pulls Obito up against him even as he takes a few staggering steps back towards the couch.

When he realizes what Kakashi is trying to do, Obito snorts softly, winds an arm tighter around Kakashi’s shoulders, and tugs him around. Another step back and he can feel the edge of the cushions covering the loveseat against the back of his knee, and he lets himself fall, dragging Kakashi with him. There's a sound of surprise, but Kakashi catches himself with a hand on the back of the loveseat and a knee in between Obito's legs, barely pauses long enough to take a breath, and kisses him again, deep and intent. His free hand skims up Obito's chest, rises like he’s going to cup Obito's face again, but Obito catches his wrist before he can. The gloves are supple and soft, but they're not skin, and he wants them _gone_.

There’s an easy way to do that, too.

He drops his gaze, ignoring Kakashi’s sudden, careful stillness, and brings Kakashi’s hand up to his mouth. There's a sharply indrawn breath, and he can't fight a small, smug smile as he gently closes his teeth over the tip of one finger, tugging lightly. The leather doesn’t slide easily, but that’s half the fun, and Obito works it partly off and switches to the next finger, tugging it up, returning to the first, then skipping over to pull the tip of Kakashi’s thumb into his mouth. He nips at it lightly, careful of his fangs, then pulls back, letting his teeth skim leather—

Kakashi makes a sharp, desperate sound, hooks an arm around Obito's waist, and drags him up and over. He yanks his other glove off even as Obito lands on top of him, lets it fall to the side as he gets his hands under Obito's shirt again. Obito debates just spitting out the glove he grabbed, but that’s decidedly less than sexy, and he already needs all the help he can get. With that in mind, he makes a show of grabbing it, sliding it out of his mouth with a flick of tongue, and the look in dark grey eyes is entirely worth it. The sound Kakashi makes is very nearly wounded, low and harsh in the back of his throat, and Obito almost wants to laugh as he leans down, lets himself rest fully on Kakashi’s chest as he kisses him again. Kakashi kisses back like he’s drowning and Obito is his last chance at air, slides one hand into Obito's hair as the other ghosts across his back to trace up his spine.

“I think you’re going to kill me,” he breathes against Obito's lips.

Cold flashes through Obito like he’s been dropped in ice water, and he jerks back. Instantly, Kakashi lets go, quickly sitting up even as Obito recoils, slams into the arm of the loveseat and can't go any further. Yahiko’s curving scar is all he can see for a moment, Madara's face when he came storming into the werewolf’s room and found them in bed together. Yahiko’s _screams_ , for days afterward, and the way Madara made Obito watch as they dragged him out of the room, flayed and bleeding but still alive, if only barely. Nausea surges in his stomach, worse than anything brought on by blood loss, and he clamps his eye shut, tries desperately not to picture Kakashi in the same situation, human and frail and _breakable_ without a werewolf’s resilience.

Obito really is going to kill him, even if he doesn’t _mean_ to, and that makes it all the worse.

“Obito,” Kakashi says quietly, and his fingers find Obito's, twist through them to grip gently, carefully. “Obito, are you all right?”

He can't even answer, can't say yes when it’s a lie, can't say no when this is all his own doing. He’s so fucking _selfish_ , so disgusting, caught up in whatever this is and so self-centered he’s willing to risk Kakashi’s _life_ just to get some distance from Madara—

“Madara,” he chokes out, can't manage a single other word with that name weighing down his tongue like lead.

There's a long, long pause. Obito thinks Kakashi is going to pull away, move back, but instead there’s a gentle tug on their twined hands. When Obito allows himself to be shifted, Kakashi doesn’t hesitate to pull him in until they’re curled together against the arm, legs tangled, Obito's head all but buried in Kakashi’s shoulder.

“Madara again,” Kakashi says, and that tone is light, but there's pure murder underneath it. Obito's not the greatest with social cues, but he’s pretty sure it’s not directed at him this time.

“Fucking _Madara_ ,” Obito mutters in agreement. He inhales, and—

Kakashi is dressed for a vampire court, but apparently he didn’t think to shower beforehand, because he smells exactly the same as he did in the tiny kitchen of the safehouse, warmth with a hint of clean fur beneath. It’s a comfort, and Obito can almost, _almost_ close his eye and pretend that nothing after that first kiss happened.

“You smell like dog,” he says, and even if it’s phrased like a complaint it’s very much not one.

With a quiet snort, Kakashi drapes an arm around his shoulders, resting his chin on top of Obito's head. “I have eight of them,” he says mildly. “It’s hard to escape.” A pause, and then he adds, “Ūhei tried to drag me out looking for you the moment I woke up. I would have gone, but the Hunters called.”

Obito can't imagine how that confrontation would have gone, if Kakashi caught him in the middle of draining those three assholes. Not nearly as well as this one, he thinks a bit bleakly. Like this, he probably looks harmless, and Kakashi can overlook the fact that he’s one of the monsters Kakashi is supposed to be hunting. And—hells, but what’s going to happen _next time_ Obito needs to feed? Will Kakashi come after him? Will he finally decide to stake him then, when he shows what he really is?

“You're an idiot, aren’t you?” Kakashi says into his hair.

“ _What_?” Obito squawks, jarred out of his thoughts by the unexpectedness of that statement—and the attached ridiculousness. He tries to rear back, but they’re too thoroughly tangled, and Kakashi isn’t budging, just beaming down at him with a smile that looks like it’s eighty percent bullshit.

“Maa,” Kakashi says airily, but his eyes are full of mischief. “Don’t worry about it. Not everyone can be blessed with my brains.”

“Lucky them,” Obito hisses, more or less trying to jab his elbow into a squishy spot. “You _bastard_ —”

“Ow.” Kakashi catches his elbow, looking massively abused. “Maa, maa, it’s not my fault you overthink everything and make yourself worry over nothing.”

“ _Nothing_?” Obito all but smacks him in the face as he jerks back, glaring darkly. “You—”

“Nothing,” Kakashi agrees, eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiles, and his gaze doesn’t waver from Obito's for even a second. “I know you're a vampire.”

Somehow, hearing it said straight out like that is entirely different than just understanding that Kakashi knows. Obito swallows, going still, and stares at the man for a long second, unable to find the words to answer.

Kakashi slowly raises a hand, letting it hover in the air for a moment, and when Obito doesn’t pull away, he cups the back of his neck lightly, urging him down. “Can I kiss you?” he asks whimsically.

“Bastard,” Obito mutters, but it comes out rougher than he intends, almost choked. Ducking down, he fits his mouth to Kakashi’s, kisses him careful and slow and deep, and it feels like his heart is turning over in his chest. A break, and he pulls back just enough to say, “You don’t always have to _ask first_. You do realize this, right?”

Kakashi hums like he’s considering the point, then tips one shoulder in a faint shrug. “Maybe I like hearing you say yes,” he offers, lightly enough that Obito can't tell if it’s a joke or not. “Good for my ego.”

Obito physically can't resist the urge to kiss him again, less careful this time, an edge of teeth and desperation behind the heat. “Your ego doesn’t need any damn help, Mister ‘I’m one of the best Hunters but can't even tell when I'm kissing a vampire’,” he retorts.

“Clearly that just means you're a fabulous kisser,” Kakashi counters, smiling, and there's absolutely nothing Obito can say to that either. He groans, not sure if he’s overwhelmed or just frustrated, and drops his head onto Kakashi’s chest, closing his eye.

“I hate you,” he mutters.

“Because I told you you’re a good kisser?” Kakashi sounds amused. “How logical.”

“Shut up,” is all Obito can manage in response, which he thinks is a decent effort given the way Kakashi’s fingers are carding through his hair, lightly stroking the nape of his neck before they rise again. He shivers faintly, but it’s…enjoyable. Not that he’d ever _say_ that. “I’m like twice your age, bastard. Show some respect.”

There’s silence for a long moment, and then Kakashi breathes out, quiet and steady. A faint tension slides through him, all too obvious with how they’re pressed together, and Obito blinks his eye open, looking up at the man curiously. Kakashi’s hand never stops stroking his hair, but he also doesn’t look back at Obito as he asks quietly, “Can you—will you tell me how long you’ve been with Madara?”

Obito frowns, a little confused why this is a touchy subject. Though he supposes having a panic attack while kissing Kakashi and then immediately spitting out Madara's name is a pretty good reason, logically. “Since he turned me. Fifty-one years in February, now.”

“You’ve been his consort since he turned you?” Kakashi’s voice is entirely neutral, which probably means the question isn’t at all, though for the life—or death—of him Obito can't see the point of it.

“I assume that’s why he turned me,” he says, faintly biting, and this time when he pushes up on his elbows on Kakashi’s chest, Kakashi doesn’t try to keep him where he was. “Meet dumb boy in a garbage dive bar, decide you want to snack on boy for the rest of eternity, turn boy because you're an utter _asshole_ —”

“Consorts are usually the second most powerful vampires in a nest,” Kakashi tells him. “Not glorified _feeders_.”

“You think I don’t know I'm Madara's fucking _bloodbag_?” Obito spits, but before he can throw himself off of Kakashi the Hunter catches his elbow. He snarls even though he doesn’t try to get away, glares into grey eyes—

“I can get you away from him,” Kakashi says, almost too soft to hear, and the look in his eyes is like the one he wore back in the safehouse, but…softer, somehow. More familiar. The grip on Obito's arm gentles, even if it was never exactly firm to begin with, and he slides his hand up to cup Obito's shoulder with the faintest pressure.

It would be easy to ignore the silent request if Obito had any inclination to, but he doesn’t. Folding forward, he wraps his arms around Kakashi’s neck, kisses him hard and feels Kakashi moan in answer, the sound vibrating through his chest. From this angle it’s easy to control the kiss, the depth, to tangle their tongues together and feel the clench of Kakashi’s hand around his shoulder. It’s unfamiliar territory, taking the lead like this, and Obito hesitates, wavers, but in the end the temptation is too much. He gets his fingers on the buttons of Kakashi’s vest and slides them through, lays his hands on slick white silk beneath.

The sound Kakashi makes is all pleasure, quiet and hungry, and he arches into Obito's touch, tips his head back like he’s begging for more and groans when Obito's fangs just barely skim his lip. It takes effort not to jerk back at that, not to startle, but Obito curls his fingers through the gap in Kakashi’s shirt and touches skin. He gets the first button undone—

Kakashi catches his wrist with a shaky breath, tangles his other hand in Obito's hair and presses their foreheads together. His pupils are blown, his breathing is unsteady, but neither his voice nor his gaze waver as he meets Obito's startled stare.

“Let me take you away from here,” he says, lacing their fingers together. “Obito, come with me.”


	11. From passionate pain to deadlier delight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there is, uh. Rather more smut than I thought before I started breaking this down into chapters. This chapter and next are mostly-happy KakaObi porn, but there are some bits that come up about Madara being a controlling douchecanoe. It's all in the "wow this is different" sort of way, but if that's going to be a trigger I wanted to mention it.

Fear knots in Obito's throat, making his chest heavy. There's dread in his veins, sharp and stark against the curls of pleasure from the kissing, and he forces himself to swallow. “I’m a _vampire_ , you idiot. I don’t think they let you keep your Hunter badge if you rescue vampires.”

“We’re supposed to help people who need it,” Kakashi counters. He pauses for a moment, then smiles. “You haven’t said _no_.”

Of course he hasn’t; Obito doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything more. He closes his eye, trying not to shake, and brushes his lips gently over Kakashi’s.

“I really do hate you,” he whispers. “Fuck, I _can't_.”

Sadness flickers across Kakashi’s face, like he really does want Obito to leave the court with him, like he _cares_ about whether or not Obito takes the offer. He sighs, quiet and a little grim, but before he can say anything else Obito kisses him again, light and lingering.

“I can—the rest of tonight,” Obito manages, and it’s an entirely selfish offer, but he doesn’t have anything else he can give. “If you still want—”

Kakashi kisses him, pushes up into it as he wraps Obito in his arms, mouths sliding together. It’s deep and desperate and sends sparks of brilliance scattering across Obito's nerves, and he gasps, pressing into the touch, into the press of Kakashi’s body against his.

“Of course I do,” Kakashi says, breaking away, and he sounds hoarse, voice rough. “Whatever you want to give.”

That _aches_ , somewhere deep inside. Obito swallows, but shrugs out of his shirt, lets it fall from his shoulders to pool on the cushions behind him. He almost shivers at the darkly intent look on Kakashi’s face as he leans forward, sliding his mouth across Obito's collar bone and down the line of his sternum. Strangling a gasp, Obito lets his hands settle on Kakashi’s shoulders, curling into silk, and he shivers as a tongue laps lightly across his flesh. His pants are constricting, uncomfortable against his skin, and he can feel himself getting hard.

Deft fingers pluck at the cords around each of his wrists, and Kakashi casts a glance up at him from beneath heavy lashes. “Can I take these off?” he asks.

Obito flinches despite himself, tries not to visible twitch back and probably fails, going by the way Kakashi stills. The bracelets and the necklace bring the events of barely two hours ago into painfully sharp focus, and Obito is suddenly aware of the slickness still inside of him, the twinge of the bite on his thigh. His breath catches, but there’s no pleasure in it. Still, better to tell Kakashi now, see the horror in his face _before_ they start rather than waiting for him to slide his fingers into Obito and find him already _used_.

“I—Madara,” he starts, only to have the words tangle on his tongue. “Before, he—”

Comprehension flickers across Kakashi’s face, and he leans in, pressing his mouth to Obito's wrist in unconscious mimicry of Madara's motion. There are no teeth this time, though, no pain, just the gentle brush of lips.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Kakashi says quietly. “Or—”

“No,” Obito interrupts, and this much he _is_ sure about. “I didn’t mean—just, I'm still—if you just want my mouth I can—”

Kakashi kisses him, light but deliberate, and smiles a little when he pulls back. “Anything you want,” he says again, and the relief is almost dizzying. Obito takes his mouth, desperate and quick, and drags one of Kakashi’s hands down his side, settling it on his ass. The sound Kakashi makes is fervent, and the grip of his hands is gratifying as he pulls Obito in.

“Bed?” he breathes into Obito's mouth. “I think I'm too old to have my father walk in on me making out with a cute boy.”

 _Cute_. It ripples through Obito like a shockwave, making his breath tangle in his throat, his chest hitch, his eye widen. He isn’t—he’s not—

Something very close to delight flickers across Kakashi’s face, and he beams even as he slithers out from under Obito and off the loveseat, pulling Obito up with him. “Though,” he adds cheerfully, “I'm pretty sure you’re cuter than my usual.”

There's _heat_ in Obito's cheeks, something the worst of Madara's little humiliations has never managed, and he almost trips over his own feet as he rises. Kakashi catches him, and Obito makes a sound of indignation and hisses, “I’m not _cute_ , you—you—”

Behind the humor in Kakashi’s face, there's only sincerity, which somehow makes the embarrassment _worse_. “You were cuddling my dog in your sleep. If you won't accept cute, what about adorable?”

With a disgusted groan, Obito kisses him, hoping that will stop the ridiculousness. Madara calls him cute, but—it’s a harsh thing, demeaning, whereas Kakashi just— _means it_. Which should probably be enough to prove the idiot is delusional; Obito has no illusions about his own looks, especially with the scars. People have wanted him anyway, but…not because he’s _cute_.

Kakashi is laughing a little even as Obito steers them back towards one of the bedroom doors, then through it. Laughing between kisses, even as his hands catch Obito's waist, and it’s strange but sweet and fills Obito's chest with an effervescent lightness that’s almost uncomfortable in its giddiness. Laughing during sex is—

Well. New. But a lot of things have been that way, the last few days.

At the edge of the bed, he pauses, waiting to see what Kakashi wants. Easy enough if Kakashi just decides to bend him over the mattress, but if he wants Obito's mouth, well, Obito isn’t opposed to that idea in the least. Getting down on his knees for Kakashi, letting Kakashi fuck his mouth until he comes—hells, but Obito can feel the heat curl through him just at the thought, shivery-hot pleasure at the idea. He lets Kakashi kiss him, slides his hands across Kakashi’s hips and pulls him in closer, expecting—

Anything but what happens. Anything but for the kiss to slide back into gentle, the edges of hunger buried beneath the stroke of Kakashi’s tongue across his, the long, steady sweep of his thumbs across Obito's ribs. Kakashi hums into his mouth, turning them, and then guides Obito down until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Then, slowly and deliberately, he folds to his knees, catching the hand Obito automatically stretches out towards him. A kiss to the palm, the flick of a tongue against his skin that makes Obito shiver, and he can't quite look away as Kakashi kisses the curve of his fingers, hands sliding up his wrist. A moment later the black cord falls away, and Kakashi leans in. The bite on Obito's wrist is still red and raw, vaguely painful, but Kakashi’s lips skim across it without hurting to linger right above.

With a hum, Kakashi catches Obito's other hand, pulls it up to his mouth and drags his lips up the length of his fingers, pulling a shudder out of Obito. Slowly, slowly Kakashi draws Obito's hand up, draws his mouth down his palm and wrist until he can get his teeth in the knotted leather and tug it loose.

The sound that escapes Obito's throat is high and sharp and needier than he expects, perfect complement to the arousal that streaks through him. He reaches for Kakashi as the bracelet falls away, gets a hand around the back of his neck and tugs him up, and Kakashi moves with it immediately. A gentle push and he falls over Obito, toppling him back onto the sheets, and gets a knee on the bed between his legs as he leans over him. Then his mouth is on Obito's chest again, tongue flickering over a nipple, and Obito gasps, arches into the touch but doesn’t falter in shoving Kakashi’s vest off his shoulders and down his arms. Kakashi shakes it off, not even lifting his head as he rolls Obito's nipple with his tongue, sucking gently, and that’s enough to make Obito hiss with pleasure, grip tightening on Kakashi’s shoulders as he shivers.

“Mm,” Kakashi hums, shifting up to lay a kiss between his collarbones. “You’re really gratifying to kiss, I hope you know that. It makes me want to put my mouth on you _everywhere_.”

Oh hells. The noise that escapes Obito at the thought is almost embarrassing, and his fingers clench against silk, tight and desperate. Kakashi makes a noise of interest, stroking over Obito's side as he noses up his throat, breath hot against Obito's oversensitive skin. Some part of Obito is ready for a bite, for teeth and blood, and he can feel his muscles winding tighter in anticipation, his head tipping back. But Kakashi pauses at the hollow of his throat, mouths at the knot in the leather. There's a light tug, barely enough to feel, and then another, and the laces drop away. Kakashi gets a hand under the cord, unloops it so carefully Obito can't even feel the pull, and then carelessly drops it off the side of the bed.

It’s probably just Obito's imagination, but with it gone he feels like he can fully _breathe_ for the first time since it was put on him, like the necklace was as tight as the collar Madara was too classy to make him wear. He takes a shuddering breath, can't help pressing a hand to his bared throat with a quiet sound of relief. The bites sting lightly under his touch, but the relief buries the sensation, makes him relax back into the blankets when he hadn’t even realized he was tense.

Another gentle kiss to the base of his throat, slow and soft, and Kakashi presses a hand over Obito's, sliding his fingers through Obito's to curl down over his palm and grip lightly. The brush of knuckles against his throat makes Obito hum, and he slides one leg up, curling it around the back of Kakashi’s knee.

“You’re perfect,” Kakashi breathes into his skin, kissing their tangled fingers, and Obito almost manages to swallow the sharp moan that escapes him. He twists a little under Kakashi’s weight, and his cock is almost fully hard in his pants now, the unspooling of arousal building with almost maddening gradualness. Kakashi still hasn’t told him what he’s planning beyond getting his mouth on Obito, and while Obito is absolutely fine with that idea, to say the least, he wants to know what else, how Kakashi wants him.

“How—” he starts, only to lose it on a gasp as Kakashi’s mouth closes over his other nipple. He pushes up before he can stop himself, back arching, Kakashi’s leg so close between his thighs that he can't help grinding against it. Instantly Kakashi is shifting forward, weight falling on Obito's hips, and this time when he rocks up his cock rubs over Kakashi’s body and he cries out, head falling back as his eye slams shut. The pleasure sparks through him, driven higher as Kakashi sucks lightly at his nipple, lazily pressing down into each lift of Obito's hips. Their hands are still tangled at Obito's throat, not gripping or holding him down, just _there_ , and the awareness of the touch is a pleasure of its own.

Lips skim lightly across Obito's chest, slide down his stomach, and Kakashi licks a stripe across his abdomen and then blows cool air over it, making Obito shiver and gasp. With a pleased sound, he skims his free hand over Obito's ribs, down to his hip, and rubs the heel of his palm over the laces of his pants, not nearly hard enough. Obito cries out, shoving up into it, trying to get more, and Kakashi makes a soothing sound, laying a kiss right above the waistband.

“You're so hard,” he says, low and almost hoarse. “Gods, Obito. I love the way you feel everything I do.”

Obito can't even speak, doesn’t know what he could say if he did. He whimpers at the light brush as Kakashi slowly, slowly tugs the laces loose, presses the back of his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of it and shudders at the scrape of his own fangs over his skin. Another stroke over his covered cock, just firm enough to feel, and Kakashi is tugging his pants down, kissing his hipbone. He lifts his head, glancing up, and Obito can feel a smile pressed into his stomach.

“You like this?” Kakashi asks lightly, none of Madara's mocking in it. Not a trace, and somehow the relief of that draws a shuddering cry just as much as the brush of lips over the head of his cock. “You look good in black leather, but personally I think you’ll look just as good out of it.”

Obito whines into his hand, clenching his fingers over Kakashi’s where their tangled hands rest on his chest. His hips jerk up, an aborted thrust before he forces himself back under control, and it should sound like the cheesiest pickup line in the _world_ but Kakashi’s mouth is sliding across his hip, over the top of his thigh as he eases the pants down, and a sound of pleased surprise vibrates through his skin.

“You shave,” Kakashi murmurs, and his hand diverts, sliding over to cup Obito's balls as his thumb brushes his cock. Obito whimpers, grinding into the touch, and doesn’t even _care_ that the shaving has never really been his choice, just Madara's preference, as long as it keeps that look on Kakashi’s face.

“Like that?” he manages to get out, and Kakashi chuckles, ducking down to press his mouth to the skin right under Obito's balls.

“I’d like it either way, but this is definitely interesting,” he says, dragging a long lick across sensitive flesh. Every nerve lights up, and Obito practically screams, arching into it, fisting a hand in his own hair for a moment before he clamps his fingers over his mouth, tries not to shake.

“Shh,” Kakashi murmurs, and Obito wants to curse at him, knee him in the ribs, _something_ , but Kakashi slides his hand up to wrap around Obito's cock and _licks him_.

The fractured, desperate cry that shatters from Obito's throat is too loud to muffle, and his hips snap up in a blind thrust only to have Kakashi’s weight push them back down. Obito jerks as Kakashi laves up his shaft with long, slow drags of his tongue, mouths the tip and licks across it, and Obito feels like he’s cracking, wild with the burst of pleasure that quakes through him. He sobs, trembling, and this is something Madara almost _never_ does, and even then only to prove a point.

Kakashi makes a sharp, hungry sound against his cock, and when Obito manages to force his eye open and look down, he’s staring at Obito's face, eyes dark. “So fucking pretty,” he says, almost _awed_ , and it’s so ridiculous but it makes Obito's cock twitch, makes him gasp and arch and have to look away. He tips his head back instead, fingers still pressed against his lips, and—

Kakashi pulls away.

Obito makes a wild, desperate sound, reaching for him automatically, and Kakashi catches his hand again, twists their fingers together and kisses Obito's knuckles. “Shh,” he hums, still gentle, still light. “I can do a lot of impressive things, but I think peeling you out of leather pants is going to take two hands even for me.”

The laugh that cracks out of Obito's chest is equal parts relief and amusement, rough with delayed arousal, and he rolls over, wiggling out of the pants with the ease of practice and kicking them off the side of the bed. With a chuckle, Kakashi catches his bare foot, kissing the top of it, then dragging his mouth up to kiss his ankle.

 “I want to suck your cock,” he says, holding Obito's gaze with intent. “Is that all right?”

The whimper that escapes is entirely involuntary, and Obito can feel himself getting even harder. “Oh hells, _please_ —”

With a hum, Kakashi slides higher, free hand gently nudging Obito's knees apart. “I would also,” he says lowly, “very much like to slide my fingers into you and stretch you open while I do it.”

Heat jolts through Obito's body, desperate and sharp enough to make his head spin. He yanks at Kakashi’s hand, sprawling out on his back, and spreads his legs. “Please,” he manages, feels Kakashi’s hands on his thighs, pulling a knee up and over his shoulder as he pushes the other wide. Then Kakashi’s mouth is against him, lips sliding up his shaft, and he cries out, almost reaches for Kakashi’s hair before he remembers himself and grabs the blankets instead.

“Hells— _Kakashi_ ,” he gasps out before his voice breaks on a whimper, and Kakashi hums, licks up under the head of Obito's cock, and slides a finger over his balls, down his perineum, and rubs it lightly around his hole.

The urge to push back against it, to get it inside of him, wars with the knowledge of how wet he is, how Madara took him, and Obito has to close his eye and swallow. Maybe Madara didn’t come inside of him, he tells himself. Maybe it’s just the lube. Maybe he can convince Kakashi to just use his mouth, slide up and over him and fuck into his throat. He opens his mouth to try—

Kakashi takes him deep and swallows around him, and Obito shouts, blindly arching. In the same moment, Kakashi slips his finger into him, slow and steady all the way to the base.

Obito freezes, breath tangled around a whimper, and his head falls back, pressing into the mattress as he fights to hold still. Kakashi is moving his finger, tracing lazy circles over his inner walls, and it’s _maddening_ , just on the edge of too little. All Obito wants is more, more of the slide of Kakashi’s mouth on him, more of the stretch. He _really_ wants Kakashi to turn him over and mount him, give him the thick cock he felt when he was rubbing himself against Kakashi. There's nothing more, though, just that one touch, deep inside of him, the heat of Kakashi just holding the head of Obito's cock in his mouth as he stares up at Obito's face, eyes dark with heat.

“Oh, hells, you _bastard_ ,” Obito breathes, almost a whine. His hands clench so hard in the sheets he can feel fabric tear, and he wants to thrust forward, to push back. He _can't_ , though, can't let himself move—

Gentle fingers pry his from the blankets, twist through them, pull his hand down. The feel of soft hair under his palm makes Obito open his eye, and Kakashi very deliberately puts Obito's hand on his head and lets go.

 _Hells_. He can't mean what Obito thinks he does, except that Obito can't think of any other meaning. He’s been on the other side of this position too many times not to understand.

Another finger traces the rim of his hole as Kakashi laps at the head of his cock, and Obito gasps out a curse, grip tightening involuntarily. His hips jerk up, and this time Kakashi doesn’t stop it, just rides the motion and pushes his second finger into him. With a whimper, Obito shoves back, takes them as deep as he can and feels them crook, rubbing inside of him with more force than before. They drag down, uncurl and push back in, and Obito cries out, rocking forward into Kakashi’s mouth and back into that stretching push. His cock is so hard it _aches_ , shivery-hot sensation spilling through him, and he gasps for breath only to have it come out as high, desperate cries.

Kakashi shifts, pushing up, and the next time he bobs down he swallows Obito all the way, lets him slide into his throat for a brief, blinding second before he pulls back. Obito bucks up before he can stop himself, moans as he pushes Kakashi’s head down and thrusts into his mouth—

Kakashi takes it, hums encouragingly as he lets Obito slide deep, then does it again. His fingers curl, scrape, push in through the slickness inside of Obito—

Oh, hells, Obito thinks, and his next cry breaks apart as he shudders. Kakashi is _cleaning him out_ , and it should be humiliating, horrible, but it’s actually a relief, perfect and terrible. No Madara inside him, not after this, and fuck but he’ll _never fucking take Obito again_ , even if Obito has to die to make sure of it.

“Fuck,” Obito breathes, the word thick and unsteady in his mouth. “Fuck, Kakashi, please, all of it, just—”

Kakashi is still sucking him, riding the small thrusts Obito can't stop, but he hums, a third finger sliding in. They spread apart, enough stretch to make Obito whine, then pull back, press in, rub _down_ , and sensation crashes over Obito like a wave, spilling up his nerve endings until he’s wordless and sobbing and Kakashi _keeps rubbing_ , pressing just hard enough into his prostate to completely shatter any chance of coherency. He can feel his orgasm rising, ready to tumble him over, and gasps out a sound that might be a warning, body clamping down—

“Stop,” he groans, “wait, _wait_ —”

Kakashi pulls back, pulls off, leans up and drags Obito into his arms to hold him while he shakes on the very edge of coming. Obito can hardly catch his breath, but there's a hand in his hair, Kakashi’s arms around him, and ragged pants in his ear. Kakashi is trembling faintly too, the line of his cock hard and hot against Obito's hip, but he doesn’t move, just clutches Obito close.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he says, rough against Obito's skin. “I’ll—are you okay?”

Obito shivers in his hold, but his head is spinning from more than just pleasure. He blinks, pulling back, and Kakashi instantly eases his grip, shifts onto his heels to give Obito as much space as possible without fully letting him go. His expression is—gutted, almost, and Obito is utterly bewildered.

“What?” he rasps. “You—I just—you don’t have anything to be _sorry_ for, idiot, but don’t you want to fuck me? I'm—you don’t have to actually stretch me. I'm a vampire.”

Kakashi stares at him for a moment, then presses a hand over his eyes, muttering something even Obito’s hearing can't make out. He shoves his hair out of his face, takes a deep breath, and looks up, leaning forward to catch Obito's hands and tug him in closer.

“I,” he says determinedly, “am _enjoying myself._ You’re beautiful. The noises you make have almost made me come in my pants at least twice. I don’t think I've ever fingered someone as responsive as you and I am just _imagining_ how you’d react if I ate you out—”

The desperate, wanton sound that tears from Obito isn’t something he can _stop_ , because hells, Madara's done that to him before, a handful of times as a reward for particularly good behavior, and fuck but Obito has never come so hard in his _existence_.

There's a sharp breath, and then hands are cupping Obito's face. Kakashi’s pupils are blown, and he looks almost dazed as he surge forward, kisses Obito fiercely and flicks his tongue across his fangs. The sensation _sings_ through Obito, like a tuning fork struck at just the right note, and he drags Kakashi up against him with a muffled cry, kisses back as their tongues tangle and mouths mesh.

“Please,” Kakashi says, kisses Obito again between words. “Please, can I? Will you let me rim you?”

He _wants_ to, Obito thinks, disbelieving. Madara treated it like a chore, something only he would ever be willing to do, but—

Well, Obito supposes that he’s always known Madara is absolutely full of shit.

Obito can't even manage words, but he nods, gets out a sound that he hopes speaks for his enthusiastic approval, and shifts away reluctantly. Kakashi helps him, a grip on his waist spilling him over onto his hands and knees, and there are instantly fingers spreading his cheeks, a mouth on the curve of his ass.

“Fuck,” Obito hisses into the sheets, feels Kakashi kiss his way down to his hole. “Ah— _fuck._ ”

Kakashi hums, light and pleased, and drags the flat of his tongue over Obito's entrance. The shiver that wracks Obito is nearly violent, and he groans, fists his hands in the cloth again to keep from thrusting back into Kakashi’s face.

“You know—” he starts, but loses the thought on a cry as Kakashi spreads his cheeks further, presses his face in, and shoves his tongue into Obito. It wrenches a wail from Obito's throat as all of his muscles lock up, the only thing he can focus on the wet heat inside of him, pushing in deeper, making him tremble.

Kakashi’s thumbs stroke over the skin of his ass, and he licks at Obito's rim again, light and teasing and quick. “I know what?” he ask cheerfully, and presses his mouth over Obito, lapping at his hole in long, determined strokes.

Obito cries out, voice shivery and breathless, and closes his eye, focusing on the press of Kakashi’s tongue, the heat of his mouth. It feels so _good_ , and each lap at his hole sends a shockwave of pleasure prickling up his spine. He’s not thinking about anything but Kakashi, anything but the arousal sweeping though his gut and the heat building in his veins. No hatred, no fury or humiliation or worry that he’s going to say something wrong, no seething edge of resentment, just—

Just him and Kakashi and the pleasure between them, and the rest of the world can wait one fucking night while Obito has this.


	12. I am too young to live without desire

Kakashi drags his fingers across Obito's hips, rubbing his cheek lightly over Obito's skin. “Not going to tell me?” he asks, mock-disappointment in his tone. “I guess if you want to keep it a secret there's nothing I can do to stop you.”

Obito groans, both at the fluttery clench of muscles inside of him and the _absolute jackass_ who he can just _feel_ is smirking. “Fuck you, you little rat bastard,” he manages, twists a foot to kick Kakashi in the thigh and would probably overbalance if not for Kakashi’s hold on him. “I was _going_ to say that I've slept with fucking _werewolves_ who don’t like doggy style as much as you seem to.”

There's a chuckle against his skin, another kiss to the curve of his ass. “What can I say?” Kakashi asks cheerfully. “I like to appreciate art.” He squeezes Obito's ass for added effect.

“You’re a perv,” Obito realizes with slightly horrified wonder. “Oh fuck, that was _terrible_ , how could you even say that with a straight face.”

“I promise, no part of me is straight,” Kakashi says solemnly, though when Obito turns his head to stare at him flatly there's mischief in his eyes. “And _certainly_ not my face.”

“Oh my _gods_ ,” Obito groans, dropping his forehead onto his crossed arms. “Fucking just—put your tongue back in my ass and stop trying to pretend you're funny. _Please_.”

Kakashi is laughing quietly, and Obito has to hide a smile in his forearms as a loud, overdramatic kiss is pressed to his hip, complete with over-the-top sound effects. He makes a show of kicking Kakashi in the leg again, though it’s not even hard enough to twinge.

“Ow,” Kakashi says anyway, sounding much abused. “Maa, Obito, I'm trying to _work_ here and you keep distracting me.” A pause, and he adds airily, “And I’m very funny, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I'm going to _kill you_ ,” Obito threatens, carefully shifting his weight off one elbow. “You're a _bastard_ , has anyone ever told you that?” He slides his hand down his chest, brushing over his hard nipples and making himself shiver, and pushes down between his legs. The drag of his forearm along his cock forces a groan from him, but he ignores it, pressing two fingers against his hole.

Kakashi moans, loud against his skin, and suddenly a tongue is lapping at his fingers as he pushes into himself, licking in to press alongside them, and Obito whimpers, shuddering. He spreads his digits, giving Kakashi room, feels wet heat pushing in and dragging around his rim. Each drag of his fingers draws a shiver from him, spreads fire through his veins and makes his gut clench, and Kakashi doesn’t stop, twines his tongue around Obito's fingers and eats him out, all sloppy enthusiasm and the long, slow-build force of an orgasm rising with each stroke of his tongue.

Obito is dizzy with it, with Kakashi’s mouth and the grip of his hands and the heat in his blood. He presses his forehead to the mattress, sharp, breathy sounds driven from his throat, and rides the waves to sensation as they build. Breathing through it is hard enough; it’s overwhelming, blinding, the slide of Kakashi’s tongue inside of him almost enough to make him come on its own. Spreading his legs a little more, he shoves his fingers deeper, moans at the messy-wet feel spreading through him as he twists, stretching himself more. He doesn’t need it, but there's a growing ache that dances across his nerve endings, a feeling of emptiness, like he’s been opened up but nothing will get _deep enough_ until he gets Kakashi’s cock in him.

Finally, _finally_ Kakashi lifts his mouth away, humming with satisfaction, and drags a thumb around the base of Obito's fingers, smoothing across the stretched skin. Obito is nearly incoherent with want, but he swallows the sob that shakes through him when Kakashi carefully eases Obito’s fingers out, then kisses his knuckles.

“Can you turn over?” he asks, and another kiss is pressed to the top of his thigh, right next to the bite Madara left.

All of Obito's limbs are shaky, heavy, but he moans and shifts, folding sideways, and sprawls out on his back with a shiver. He feels _sloppy_ inside, and it should be disgusting but he loves it, squirms a little just to feel more of it and lets his head fall back with a pleased moan.

“Fuck,” Kakashi breathes, and in a heartbeat his mouth is on Obito's stomach, kissing across his abdomen. He drags his hands up the insides of Obito's thighs, thumbs rubbing over the skin, and releases a shaky breath into his hip. “Will you let me fuck you?” he asks, and it rasps in his throat. “I can—if you don’t want to I can suck you and—”

Obito groans, reaching down and catching Kakashi by the upper arm, dragging him up and on top of him. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ , if you don’t get your cock in me I will—”

Thankfully he doesn’t have to think what he’ll do—something violent, probably—because Kakashi whimpers, reaching up to fight with his tie. It’s so very much the furthest thing from sexy that Obito can't help the laugh that cracks out of him, startled and amused. He bats Kakashi’s hands away, grabbing the length of pale purple cloth and using it to drag Kakashi down into a kiss. Kakashi makes a startled sound into his mouth, but kisses back eagerly, and Obito deftly undoes the knot as their tongues tangle. Heat skips through him, glancing off every point of contact, and he loops a leg around the backs of Kakashi’s knees, sliding his hands down to take care of the shirt buttons.

“Want to get your pants off for me?” he asks, turning his head just enough to get the words out. The beauty mark below Kakashi’s lips is temptingly close, and Obito can't resist the urge to kiss it, flicking his tongue over the corner of Kakashi’s lips.

Kakashi groans, hands immediately going to the buckle of his belt. In a moment it’s falling lose, the button and zipper undone as well, and Obito expects him to pull them down just enough to get his cock out, but instead Kakashi slides off him, strips his pants and sword belt off at the same time and lets them drop. He hesitates there, wavering, and then looks at Obito.

It’s a strange moment of vulnerability. Obito has been in far sexier positions, has done stuff a hell of a lot racier than simply lying on his back with his legs spread, but as Kakashi’s eyes fall on him his breath still catches in his throat, his heartbeat quickens. Something curls in his chest, foreign and faint, and he can't stop himself from reaching out, stretching his hand towards Kakashi.

Without hesitating, Kakashi takes it, allows himself to be pulled down to sprawl over Obito without letting go of his hand. Instead, he laces their fingers again, leans in to kiss Obito, and it’s not the desperate, bruising kiss he expects, but careful and slow and attentive. Obito moans, gripping Kakashi’s hand tightly, and curls his legs around Kakashi’s hips. The shift makes Kakashi’s cock slide against his own, a rough drag of barely-slicked skin, and Obito thrusts up with a cry, helpless against the burst of pleasure. Groaning, Kakashi thrusts back, the kiss stuttering as he gasps against Obito's lips.

“In—in me,” Obito gets out, even as Kakashi tries to steal the words from inside his mouth. “Come on, you asshole, I'm getting _old_ —”

The sound Kakashi makes is almost a laugh, fractured and rough. “I thought patience was— _oh_ —patience was a virtue,” he says, shuddering as Obito's free hand curves around his cock.

“I've _been_ patient,” Obito retorts, though his breath hitches as the flared head presses against his hole. Tipping his hips up, he arches his back, grips Kakashi’s waist with his thighs, and bears down.

The long, slow slide, the too-full stretch is enough to make Obito's breath hitch, fingers clamping down on Kakashi’s as he lets his head fall back. He’s almost always enjoyed sex, even when Madara's being an asshole—the physical pleasure is one of the few good parts of the whole thing. And this is _good_ sex; every nerve in his body is humming with it, and there's no pain, nothing but the thickness of Kakashi’s cock invading him, making him breathless with the heavy heat of it.

Kakashi kisses him, messy and off-center, a groan rumbling through him that Obito can more feel than hear. His muscles are corded under his skin, strung tight as he bottoms out, and he shudders, gasping against Obito's lips. Winding his legs around him a little more tightly, Obito pulls him in, brings his hand back up to card through pale hair as Kakashi pants against his cheek.

“You feel so good in me,” he breathes, shivering a little as his body adjusts. Kakashi gives him the time, too; there's no movement, no immediate, brutal thrusts. Just the slow easing of the faint sharpness into something sweeter, sparking across Obito's nerves.

Kakashi makes a gutted sound at his words, pressing his forehead against Obito's shoulder, and—Obito doesn’t normally talk, when he’s like this, unless it’s to curse at his Sire. But that was so simple, just the truth, and Kakashi _reacted_. It makes something hot curl through his chest, spread out through his lungs.

 _Oh_ , he thinks.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he says, and it’s still the truth. He arches a little, lets Kakashi shift inside of him, edge deeper. There’s a dizzying sort of pleasure wound through him, slowly twisting tighter, and he rocks his hips, lets his muscles clamp down, and groans when Kakashi makes a bitten-off sound and jerks in an aborted thrust.

“More,” Obito tells him, and the feel of the word escaping his mouth is strange, almost unnerving. Almost a demand, but he can't take it back, doesn’t _want_ to, because Kakashi shudders and rocks forward, pulls back, slides in on a long, slow thrust that makes Obito's whole body curl. The scattering shocks inside of him make him tremble, dropping his hand from Kakashi’s head to fist in the sheets as he arches up to meet Kakashi’s body.

Kakashi makes a sound into his shoulder that’s almost a word, and his hand finds Obito's elbow, curls around it and drags down with a wash of tingling _awareness_ until he can slide his fingers under Obito's, curling over his palm. Obito's knuckles skim across the comforter, but there's no pressure put on either hand even as Kakashi leans in to slant their mouths together, both of Obito's hands braced by his head, held securely. And—

 _Holding_ is the only word that fits, Obito thinks, gasping as another slow, steady push drives right into him. Kakashi is _holding his hands_ , and it’s stupid, romantic nonsense, but Obito would rather cut off his own arm than pull away. He kisses Kakashi back, messy and uncoordinated as their bodies slide together, and each thrust is slow to the point of maddening, echoing down through his bones. Kakashi’s mouth is hot, even with the rest of the heat building between them, and the drag of his body over Obito's cock wrings muffled cries from his throat, makes him shudder and arch and rock back.

“Gods, you're perfect,” Kakashi gasps against his lips, eyes blown dark. There's a flush across pale skin, the tremble of his heartbeat beneath his skin, and Obito can _feel_ the pulse of the blood through him, the heat of it. His fangs ache, an all-too-present reminder that he hasn’t fed since Madara drained him, but the urge to feed on Kakashi is swamped by the rising tide of pleasure, sparking crystalline through him. He cries out as Kakashi pushes in, those words reverberating through him, and drags him closer with the legs around his waist, pulls him in and meets his thrust and lets it shudder through his body. Another kiss, desperate and distracted, and Kakashi gasps into his skin, quakes like he’s coming undone but keeps moving.

The heat and weight of him inside Obito is perfect, and Obito throws his head back, closes his eye and rides each long, drowning wave as Kakashi bottoms out, draws back. It’s building to something breathless and beautiful, vast and drowning, and Obito wants _more_ , harder and faster and edged with the pain of a bite, but at the same time he wants Kakashi in him forever, the feel of _just enough_ driving everything higher.

Groaning, Kakashi tips forward, presses their cheeks together as he slides home, and it drags his cock over sparking nerves, makes Obito strangle a loud cry as he jerks. More pressure on his own cock, so hard it aches where it’s pressed between their bodies, and he shudders, feels the slide of Kakashi pulling back and then another deliberate thrust, pushing in until his hips are flush to Obito's and Obito is shaking with it, so deep inside of him.

“Hold—hold on,” Kakashi gasps into his skin, guiding Obito's hand to the back of his neck, and Obito immediately does, burying his fingers in Kakashi’s hair and holding him close, feeling the heat of each breath against his sweaty skin. Kakashi presses an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder, whole body rolling with his next thrust, but his free hand is on Obito's side, his ribs, his waist, sliding down to his hip—

Obito shouts, jerks almost hard enough to left them both off the bed as Kakashi’s fingers close around his cock. His next breath comes out on a sob, loud and shaky, and Kakashi strokes him with a loose, sloppy grip but it still crashes over him, intense and explosive.

(Madara loves that he can come untouched, no matter how long it takes him to reach that point, and he _doesn’t_ touch Obito, makes a point of it. After so long, that’s just how it is for him—between Madara's bites and something inside of him, Obito always comes regardless, but—)

He shakes under Kakashi’s touches, the drag of fingers up and down his cock, the thumb that smears precome across the head, and it’s such a sharp pleasure that it _hurts_. Obito sobs and shudders and comes apart, his orgasm like lightning through his veins.

The world comes back in bits and pieces, shards reassembling themselves: Kakashi’s fingers tangled with his, the softness of white hair pressed against his skin and under his hand, the desperate, shaky breaths as Kakashi gasps for air, perfectly still over him. His body is pressed to every inch of Obito's, a line of heat that’s heavy and trembling faintly, muscles tensed.

Obito takes a breath, careful and slow, feeling the weight of Kakashi’s cock buried so deeply inside him, and strokes clumsy fingers through Kakashi’s hair. There are aftershocks of pleasure still sliding through his veins, but they don’t have the same near-painful edge he’s used to. He manages a breathy sound, shifting, and Kakashi strangles a noise into his skin and somehow goes even stiller.

“Kakashi?” Obito rasps, the word too large and thick in his mouth.

He can feel Kakashi swallow, the way fingers tighten around his hand. “I—can I keep—is it too much?” A low groan rolls through Kakashi and he looks up, dazed, desperate eyes finding Obito's. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it’s the post-orgasm haze, but Obito can't manage to figure out what he means. He blinks, trying to parse it, but all he can assume is that Kakashi means to ask if he can keep fucking him, and—what?

“I'm fine,” he says, still trying to understand if he’s right. “You can just keep going.”

Kakashi chokes out a sharp sound, all but collapsing forward as he thrusts forward, harder than before, and it’s electricity, light. Obito cries out, but when Kakashi gasps what sounds like an apology and starts to pull away, Obito hitches his legs higher around his waist, drags his mouth up to kiss him deeply, and clenches his muscles around him in a ripple that sends sparks dancing across his vision.

There's a muffled curse against his shoulder before Kakashi starts moving again, thrusts faster, shallow and stripped of rhythm, and it’s all Obito can do to hang on to Kakashi, thighs slipping around his hips. He can _see_ the moment when Kakashi comes, the desperation twisting into ecstasy, and Kakashi shakes in his arms, collapsing fully on top of him with a deep-seated groan.

Obito rides out the last aftershocks that roll through him, lazy with the pleasure of it, and strokes Kakashi’s sweat-damp hair. Dawn is coming—maybe an hour or less away—and it’s a weight on the horizon, but Kakashi is a far more pleasant one, warm-hot and sprawled out completely over him. The rhythm of his heart is tangible through his skin, a steady pulse that echoes through Obito's body in turn, and he splays a hand over Kakashi’s shoulder blade to feel it beating.

With a low hum, Kakashi turns his head, pressing a languid kiss to Obito's shoulder. His grip on Obito's hand eases, loosens, and he carefully gets his elbows under him and shifts up as Obito drops his legs. The drag of his softening cock makes Obito shudder as it slips out, leaving him oddly empty, but—

He doesn’t hurt. Not really. There's a faint, forgettable ache, but he’s warm and pleasantly exhausted all through. It’s going to be a pain to leave the bed, feeling this good, and he wants to sleep even more than he wants to feed right now.

But before he can even lever himself up, Kakashi is sprawling out next to him with a pout and entirely undignified grabby hands. “Cuddling?” he asks hopefully.

Obito laughs, doesn’t even try to help it. “You’re ridiculous,” he accuses. “We’re both filthy.”

“I thought that was rather vanilla, myself,” Kakashi says airily, and when Obito splutters, deeply offended by the pun, he chuckles, then rolls over the edge of the bed and pushes to his feet. “Bathroom?”

Waving a hand at the door in the far wall, Obito rolls onto his side, watching Kakashi walk away. The man puts a deliberate shimmy in his steps, practically shaking his ass, and Obito muffles his laughter in the pillow. Hells, he’s _really_ ridiculous.

There's a brief sound of running water, a few quiet bars of tuneless humming, and Obito closes his eye, relaxing into the mattress. He _should_ get up, get moving, maybe even actually go back to his own room. His knives are there, after all, and he has no idea what will happen next time he sees Madara but he wants the option, at the very least. Even more than that, though, he knows that this was one night, and that usually doesn’t translate to sharing a bed. Rather than make Kakashi kick him out after he’s been so kind—

A warm cloth drags over his stomach, and Obito lifts his head to find Kakashi sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at him with a strange expression on his face. Getting an elbow under himself, he pushes up, reaching for the cloth. “I can do that, you don’t have to—”

Kakashi catches his fingers, lifting them to his mouth to nip at them lightly. “I like having an excuse to touch you,” he says, smiling a little. “But I can stop if you want.”

He means with the cleaning, but…Obito thinks of Kakashi not touching him, never touching him again, and something cold and heavy settles in his chest. This is going to end with nightfall; it _can't_ go on longer than that. And even so, Obito is greedy enough to want more. Thinking that this is inevitably going to become nothing but a memory, one night and nothing more—

With a quiet hum, Kakashi leans in to kiss him, slow and careful, even as the wet cloth strokes down across his thigh. It makes Obito's breath catch, makes him curl his fingers around Kakashi’s shoulder to anchor himself as Kakashi strokes into his mouth, tangling their tongues. Intimate and easy, unconsciously simple even with everything else about to crash down on them, and Obito just—doesn’t want to lose this.

He’s going to, though. Just one more thing to be laid at Madara's door, along with all the other things taken from him. Like a heartbeat, and a life, and any sort of control.

Hells, but Obito doesn’t think he’s ever hated his Sire more.

Kakashi breaks the kiss, leaning forward and looping a loose arm around Obito's waist. He presses their temples together, and his breath rustles Obito's hair, the fall of silver threads from his earring. “Now can we cuddle?” he asks, almost plaintive, but Obito can see the curve to his mouth, the smile that shows in his eyes.

“What a perv,” he deadpans, even as he tugs the blanket down. “Hells, Hatake. How deranged. Keep those kinks to yourself.”

There's laughter against his ear, soft and amused, and with an offended huff Kakashi bears him down onto the sheets, rolling over and using his grip to pull Obito down on top of him, their legs tangled. Somehow, looking at him like this, from bare inches away as Kakashi smiles up at him, feels more intimate than anything they just did, and Obito has to force himself to keep breathing.

“You like my kinks,” Kakashi tells him solemnly, though Obito can see he’s trying not to giggle.

Rolling his eye, Obito huffs, then drops his chin onto Kakashi’s chest and says pointedly, “Why do you have _energy_ , damn it. Don’t most people pass out after they come?”

“A hundred calories burned during sex on average,” Kakashi agrees cheerfully, draping his arms over Obito's shoulders.

“Of course you would know the exercise value of sex.” Obito shifts, trying to get comfortable, and then makes an exasperated noise. “You're all _pointy_ , ugh. Let me off, this is fucking _uncomfortable_.”

Kakashi pouts at him, then rolls sideways, spilling Obito onto the bed even though he entirely fails to release his hold on him. “How rude, Obito. I'm the perfect image of fitness. This is all muscle.”

Obito jabs a finger in his ribs, if not hard enough to make him let go. “Yeah, and it’s like lying on a pile of sticks.”

With a wounded noise, Kakashi tugs him close, pointedly drops his chin on top of Obito's head, and asks archly, “Didn’t you want to sleep?”

“Bastard.” Obito rolls his eye again, but doesn’t move away. Dawn is creeping closer, and he wants to warn Kakashi that in less than an hour he’s going to be sharing a bed with what might as well be a magically preserved corpse, but he just—doesn’t want him to let go. Even if that’s selfish.

Determinedly, he buries his face in Kakashi’s chest and closes his eye, letting himself relax.

One night, he tells himself. The world let him have this much, and he’s grateful. Grateful enough to keep holding on to it as long as he’s allowed.

 

 

Kakashi can feel sleep at the edges of his mind, but he holds out against it. Sleep can come later. Right now it just…feels like too high a price to pay, when the cost is missing this.

Obito is asleep in his arms, a natural sleep instead of the lack of animation that will come with dawn. His head is heavy on Kakashi’s bicep, skin already cooling and cheeks losing their flush, but he’s beautiful. Beautiful and snarky and sharp-tongued, entirely unimpressed with Kakashi’s everything, and if Kakashi could stuff him into his bag and carry him right out of Madara's nest he would do it in a heartbeat.

That first glimpse he caught of Obito in the court was horrifying. Kakashi almost thought his heart stopped at the sight, Obito bristling and furious as Madara grabbed his hair and dragged him into a kiss that made him wince. A lot of things over the years have made Kakashi angry, but that—

If he’d had even one stake on him, he would have gone after the bastard, driven it into his face and called it a good night’s work. And that was then; after seeing Obito's reactions, watching him act bewildered by common courtesy and gentleness, hearing that he’s been with Madara for half a damned century—

Well. Kakashi probably wouldn’t go for anything as fast and painless as a staking, right now.

He forces himself to breathe out, to keep his fingers stroking through Obito's wild black hair. It’s a noticeably lighter sleep than the last time Kakashi saw him like this, safe in Kakashi’s bed with Ūhei next to him, but that’s probably to be expected. Fifty years as Madara's consort, without the power that normally goes with the position, and he must be used to fending off attacks at all times, never letting his guard down unless he’s well out of range of anyone scheming for power.

With a soft rush, all of the air suddenly leaves Obito's lungs. He falls still, muscles yielding and going lax, and his chest stops rising as the next breath fails to come. The way the color drains from him is slower, more subtle, but Kakashi can practically watch the magic that normally animates him recede like a tide going out under the morning sun. It’s interesting, distantly, but not much more than that. Kakashi has been around magical creatures for years, even when he’s not hunting the ones who hunt humans, and a vampire in the daytime is _far_ less intimidating than Kabuto before his coffee.

Not that Obito seems to realize that, but Kakashi supposes that after fifty years with Madara, vampires are probably one of the most horrifying creatures imaginable, even to someone who _is_ a vampire.


	13. Too young art thou to waste this summer night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update, because I might not get a chance to post during the week. I am _almost_ sorry for the ending. :D
> 
> (Also, if you'd care to know why Sakumo and Orochimaru are rumpled, there is a bonus scene in the end notes.)

From beyond the bedroom, there's a click, then footsteps and low voices. It only takes a second for Kakashi to recognize his father’s voice, then Orochimaru’s, and he lets himself relax again, eyes dropping away from where his swords are lying. Another moment of debate, and then he sighs and carefully slides out from under Obito, who despite his earlier accusations of Kakashi being uncomfortable managed to practically smother Kakashi in his sleep. Not that Kakashi is complaining. Like this, though, Obito will hardly notice him leaving, and he needs to talk to Sakumo.

It’s easy enough to find most of his clothes and pull them on, though Kakashi spares a moment to remember that his gloves and Obito's shirt are both out in the main room with a wince. He was spared any parental oversight while he was a teenager, since Sakumo spent most of that time lost in the forest eating small, fluffy woodland creatures, and so his father having casual knowledge of his sex life is still unfamiliar and also unwelcome.

It’s not like Sakumo tries to spare him from the fallout of his absolutely horrifying romance with Orochimaru, though, so Kakashi supposes this just makes them vaguely even.

When Kakashi nudges the door open, both Sakumo and Orochimaru glance up. A little wary, Kakashi eyes them both, because even though Orochimaru looks as perfectly put together as always, his father is decidedly less so; the top two buttons on his shirt are undone, as is the very bottom one, and there's a bit mark showing under the rumpled collar. Kakashi very determinedly doesn’t look lower, instead crossing to the loveseat and picking up Obito's shirt with all the dignity he can muster.

There's a long moment of silence. Sakumo eyes the shirt, then Kakashi, and then turns to trade glances with Orochimaru that speak _volumes_.

“…I hope I don’t need to tell you what a bad idea that probably is,” Sakumo finally says, quiet and steady, holding Kakashi’s gaze.

Kakashi thinks of Obito, the way he pressed into each of Kakashi’s touches and kissed like he was drowning, always so careful not to hurt despite his greater strength. How he had to be convinced to give any sorts of directions, and never once tried to take the lead without Kakashi ceding it first. Thinks of the way Madara touched him on the throne, or in front of them, and fifty _years_ of that all piling up and spilling over until a _vampire_ reacted to the idea of biting someone close to him like it was a death sentence.

He meets his father’s eyes without a second of hesitation. “It’s worth it,” he says, and means it right down to his bones.

Truthfully, he can't blame Sakumo for the long pause that follows, because he’ll admit from an outside perspective that sleeping with Madara's consort seems like a particularly exciting method of suicide. Sakumo doesn’t know Obito, though, or he’d be feeling the same things Kakashi is.

Well. Mostly the same things, hopefully. If Kakashi ever got to the point of competing for someone’s affection against his father, he really hopes he’d have the sense to step back and reexamine his life a little.

In a sweep of grey and lavender, Orochimaru cuts between them, heading for the liquor cabinet set against the far wall. He studies the contents for a moment, wrinkling his nose, but finally selects a bottle of red wine. “Madara's taste is atrocious in all things,” he says disdainfully, then casts a glance at Kakashi. “Well. Most things, I suppose.”

Kakashi really would rather not think about Madara having anything to do with Obito at all, let alone Obito appealing to Madara's _taste_. Orochimaru must read that on his face, because he doesn’t comment further, just turns to select a glass and find the corkscrew. “I take it you know him?” he asks, almost lightly. “This wasn’t an impulsive seduction?”

The urge to misdirect is strong, but Kakashi swallows it down. Even if the truth gives him far less room to make requests, his father is more than able to smell a lie on him. “I saved him from a vampire in Konoha a few days ago. He was almost completely drained of blood. I thought he was a feeder.”

Tipping his head, Orochimaru considers this, slowly swirling the deep red wine in his glass. Knowing him, he mostly picked it for the image he presents when holding it, and equally for the fact that he’s taking one of Madara's probably carefully hoarded bottles from him. Though, judging by the appreciative look Sakumo is giving him, the former reason likely isn’t _solely_ for the aesthetic of it.

“His scaring is…extensive,” Orochimaru allows. “And to lose an eye as well? Either they are very old injuries indeed, or done after he was turned. The turning itself would have healed them if they were more recent.”

Kakashi hadn’t even thought of that. It sits like bile at the back of his throat, and gods, how terrible is it that the best case scenario here is that it was done to him by one of Madara's enemies? The thought that it _wasn’t_ , that Obito has spent the last fifty years with the man who would hurt him so viciously, is so horrifying Kakashi doesn’t even want to contemplate it.

“Why does that _matter_ ,” he says, and it comes out flatter than he intends it to, on the edge of aggressive.

“Kakashi—” his father starts, reproving, but Orochimaru lifts a hand and cuts him off.

“Because pain and suffering can be a toll paid,” he answers. “A toll required of many, many great magics. It is one of the ironies of the world, really, that it does not have to be the caster’s suffering.”

It takes a moment for Kakashi to realize what he’s implying, and whatever he was about to say strangles in his throat, lodged there by horror and disgust. “I—for a _ritual_?” he manages. “You think someone did that to him for a _ritual_?”

Orochimaru casts him a look that’s almost indulgent. “Kakashi, you of all people have seen the dark parts of this world. You know what some will do in the pursuit of power. Tell me, did he mention anything that was of note? If he has any special abilities that may have caught Madara's attention?”

“It didn’t come up,” Kakashi says mildly, and pointedly folds Obito's shirt and drapes it over his arm. Then a memory strikes him, and he pauses, turning it over for a moment before he asks, “Consorts are usually second in command, aren’t they?”

“Mostly.” Sakumo settles his weight against the arm of the sofa, head tipped slightly as he studies Kakashi. “It’s like the person who marries into a royal family—most of the influence, usually a good amount of power on their own, and an authority only matched by the Master.”

Which doesn’t make _sense_. Obito acts like a hunted animal in the nest, not a prince. Madara's other Children don’t defer to him, hardly seemed to associate with him during court—Kakashi saw him interact more with the local psychic and shapeshifters than he did his fellow vampires. And maybe a part of that is Madara, but—that can't be _all_ it is.

“Madara made Obito consort as soon as he turned him,” he says slowly, and the pieces are _there_ but Kakashi only has the very edges of the puzzle, and he’s trying to assemble it in the dark. “That doesn’t happen, does it?”

Another look between Sakumo and Orochimaru, and then Orochimaru shakes his head. One sip of wine and he sets the glass aside, folding his hands into his sleeves. “Only _very_ rarely,” he confirms, “and most of those cases are love matches. I assume this is not one.”

Kakashi breathes in, thinks of Obito staring up at him, stunned by _common courtesy_ and Kakashi not being a _rapist asshole_ , and unclenches his jaw enough to grit out, “It’s really not.”

With a thoughtful hum, Orochimaru tips his head. “I suppose the turning itself could have revealed enough about the boy’s powers to warrant it,” he says, and to so casually call a fifty-year-old vampire _boy_ —Kakashi is reminded all over again that no one in the world knows what the hell Orochimaru actually _is_ , besides very old and very strong. He’s been around long enough to have a half-Sidhe son with the Unseelie King, and even if Neji looks like a teenager, the fey age slowly. Kakashi’s never asked just how much older his stepbrother is, and he doesn’t particularly want to.

“It would have to be a particularly stressful turning, though,” Sakumo points out. “A violent death, or something like it.”

 _Meet dumb boy in a garbage dive bar, decide you want to snack on boy for the rest of eternity, turn boy because you're an utter_ asshole _—_

“I don’t think it was,” Kakashi says slowly, because Obito sounded _angry_ about it, but not traumatized. And Madara seems the type to do something like that, ruin another person’s life on a whim just so he can have access to them, just so he can have power over them. Maybe Obito's will caught his interest, and he wanted to see if he could break it.

A prickle of pain makes Kakashi realize he’s clenching his fists so tightly his nails are cutting into his palms, and he breathes out carefully and forces his fingers to uncurl. He _really_ doesn’t want to think about this.

Orochimaru’s eyes are on him, assessing and thoughtful, but he doesn’t mention the reaction. “Well. I suppose questions can wait for later. Now would likely be best served planning what to do about this change of circumstance.”

“I offered to get him out and he refused,” Kakashi says, and it stings, sharp and painful in his chest. He can _help_ , and Obito won't let him, won't defy Madara—

He drags himself back under control, stamps down his anger. This whole night was a defiance of Madara, he reminds himself. Obito stayed with him, slept with him, let himself enjoy something, even when he was so scared of Madara's reaction that he had a fucking _panic attack_.

Gods, but Kakashi doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone stronger than Obito, to still be so fierce and steady and _good_ after all this time under Madara's thumb.

“Expected,” Sakumo says, almost gently. As if Kakashi needs the reminder. “But if he’s willing to help against Madara, even a little, it might be all the chance we need.”

Kakashi pauses, flicks a quick glance at his stepparent to see if there’s any reaction to Sakumo casually volunteering both of them for this fight. Not so much as a twitch, though, and Kakashi is vaguely regretful that his first reaction is still doubt, but—well. Necromancer. He’d thought Orochimaru was planning to use his father in some sort of deadly ritual for the whole first year after he learned about them.

Long fingers drum lightly on polished wood, and Orochimaru tips his head, his hair sliding over his shoulder until Sakumo gathers it up in one hand, lays a kiss on the length of it, and gently pulls it back. The action gets him a smile, quick and sly, but Orochimaru doesn’t otherwise react as he tells Kakashi, “For all that Madara's court is the presiding power in the area, I think it will be quite simple to gather forces against him, as long as we’re discerning.” Then he pauses, eyes narrowing faintly, and adds slowly, “Though…I might be wary of the Senju. Hashirama is unpredictable, even for a vampire, and he’s just as old as Madara. He and his clan keep mostly to themselves, but their court is hardly one to be trifled with, even if Madara did manage to drive them out of the city.”

“That’s what Madara meant when he was talking about finally being more powerful?” Sakumo asks, frowning a little. “I don’t remember my mother mentioning anything about a vampire war during her time as a Hunter.”

“Several decades ago now,” Orochimaru confirms. “Almost five, if I recall correctly. Hashirama surrendered after single combat with Madara where Madara emerged the victor, and took his nest to Uzushio before Madara's court could wipe them out. It was a startling upset—no one had realized Madara was strong enough to beat Hashirama, but no one found evidence of cheating.”

Almost five decades. Maybe it’s just the sudden association, but that number is coming up a hell of a lot recently, and it’s making Kakashi suspicious. Judging by the glance his father sends at him, he isn’t the only one, either.

“It seems like a lot was happening fifty years ago,” Sakumo says lightly. “What’s the chance it’s all connected?”

“What's the chance it isn’t?” Orochimaru counters, smile sly.

Kakashi, though, is still stuck on the image of those bites on Obito's body—at least a dozen of them, all raw and new, some placed for easiest access to blood but some very much not.

(He thinks of the bite on Obito's thigh, still bleeding faintly even with a vampire’s healing, clearly irritated by the constant friction of the leather without so much as a bandage over it. Thinks of what Madara must have been doing, to put it there, and wants to stake the bastard all over again.)

“Feeding from another vampire packs more of a punch than feeding from a human would, right?” he asks, and the words grate in his throat. “If Madara wanted power, only taking blood from Obito—would that do it?”

“…Perhaps.” Even so, Orochimaru looks faintly skeptical. “Without a large amount of power on the boy’s part, though, it would hardly be enough to rival someone like Hashirama. And even then, sharing power isn’t so simple, even between vampires with a Siring bond.”

Damn it. The thought _feels_ right, though, and Kakashi turns it over in his mind for a moment, examining the angles. There are no answers to be found right now, with Obito asleep for the day, and he honestly seems just as in the dark as the rest of them where Madara's actions are concerned.

Either way, that’s not the main concern right now. “Obito might be willing to help us, but we need to get him out more than we need him on the inside,” Kakashi says stubbornly, and when his father opens his mouth Kakashi stares at him, halfway to a challenge, just daring Sakumo to contradict him.

“You can't force him to leave if he refuses, Kakashi,” Sakumo tells him quietly, and his eyes are sympathetic but that doesn’t make up for the utter bullshit of that statement.

“Madara is using him as a _sex slave_ ,” Kakashi bites out, and just _saying_ the words makes his stomach turn. How many times must Obito have said no, or _wanted_ to say no? Even once is one time to many, and Kakashi is certain it’s been more than that. “He just—takes whatever he wants from Obito. I won't let him stay here.”

“And if you drag him out of here, past all the guards and wards?” Orochimaru asks, almost idly, flat golden stare unnervingly snakelike. “Will you go on the run from Madara with a man who only wants to go back to him?”

“He wouldn’t—”

“He would.” Orochimaru smiles, but there's not so much as a trace of humor in it. “Right now, he knows only Madara, believes he cannot be anywhere else. He has probably convinced himself it is for everyone else’s protection, that nothing he does will ever allow him to escape. That’s not something you can change in one night, Kakashi, no matter how good the sex is.”

Kakashi doesn’t quite flush, but he definitely looks away. Hearing his stepparent talk about his sex life is about as comfortable as getting drenched in corrosive monster spit, and yes, Kakashi knows that from _experience_.

The points Orochimaru brings up aren’t all that comfortable, either, mostly because they're true.

“I don’t care if he hates me, as long as he’s free,” Kakashi says quietly, and is almost startled by how the thought simultaneously aches and is entirely true. No part of him actually _wants_ Obito's hatred, but he would take it without hesitation if it meant Obito's freedom.

Sakumo pushes to his feet, stepping into Kakashi’s space to curl a gentle hand around his shoulder. “He wouldn’t be, though. Not with Madara still out there. And Madara won't give him up just because you take him away, Kakashi. If anything, he’d hunt you to the ends of the earth, and going back when he eventually caught up would make things even worse for Obito.”

“The best we can do for now is give him a safe place to run to,” Orochimaru puts in, and the glance he flicks at Sakumo makes Kakashi suddenly wonder if he’s speaking from experience in this situation. It makes him swallow, unhappy and on edge, torn between wanting to know who in existence could manage to do such a thing to _Orochimaru_ and wanting to find that person and cut them into little pieces.

“And take Madara out of power,” Sakumo adds, and this time his smile is more cheerful. He ruffles Kakashi’s hair like he’s six again, sidesteps Kakashi’s huffy swat, and retreats to pull Orochimaru into his arms, letting the necromancer lean back against him as he buries his face in long black hair.

Really, Kakashi hates it when they double-team him with logic and understanding. He curls his fingers into the crimson silk of Obito's shirt, flicking a glance down at it, and then blows out a careful breath.

“…You think people will agree to overthrow Madara? Just like that?” he asks, and he doesn’t want to believe it’s possible—vampire nests tend to rule their local courts regardless of what other supernatural creatures live in the area, since they're a lot more organized and a lot more vicious than any loose collection of shapeshifters or witches—but he watched Obito with the local Rex. Yahiko acted more than just friendly with him; he was _familiar_ , familiar and worried and kind, and if they can get him to support the move…

“I have hope,” Orochimaru says lightly, “that things are not quite as dark as they seem. Nor so simple, with any luck.”

Kakashi can't remember the last time he _wanted_ a situation to be more complicated, but he supposes there have been a lot of unexpected happenings in the last few days, and this is hardly the greatest of them.

“I'm going back to bed,” he says with all the dignity he can muster, and—it’s almost a _surprise_ how much he wants it, to be next to Obito even when the other man is in the magical equivalent of stasis. Not just for comfort, to remind himself that for at least a few more hours Obito will be spared Madara's attention, but just to stay close.

Before either Sakumo or Orochimaru can interject, he turns on his heel and heads back towards the bedroom, very firmly closing the door, even if he isn’t quite dumb enough to lock it. They're in the middle of a vampire nest, after all, and things could always go wrong.

Well. More wrong, he supposes.

With a sigh, Kakashi strips off his clothes, dumps them on the trunk at the foot of the bed, and slides under the blankets again, gathering Obito's lax form into his arms. He’s cool to the touch, and the lack of breathing will take a bit of getting used to, but Kakashi just buries his face in soft hair and breathes him in.

It will be all right, he tells himself. They can fix this. They can save Obito.

Kakashi won't let there be any other option.

 

 

Obito hasn’t dreamed since he was turned, not really, but there's a moment between dusk and true nightfall when the magic is more supple, more bendable. It feels like existing between states, neither full death nor unlife, but…a borderland, maybe.

It’s here on the border that the memories are clearest.

The fear is foremost. Not the fear after his turning, but—before. Weeks spent with a prickle at the back of his neck every time the sun went down, a strange, hunted feeling he could never quite escape. A man with a beautiful smile, half-hidden in the shadows, who only ever looked at Obito, even when there were so many other people trying to claim his attention. A hand on his hip, a mouth on his, a drugging kiss like he’d never felt and the jittery, half-incredulous understanding that he was finally doing it, taking someone home and losing his virginity and had been _enough_ to make this beautiful, beautiful man _interested in him_ —

Hells, but it _aches_ to look back on how stupid he was then.

 A breath in, slow and steady as the air slides back into his lungs, and Obito lets his eye open. He’s _warm_ , almost obscenely so, and there's weight around his waist but no body on top of him, no mouth at his throat. His head is pillowed on hot skin, and he can feel long fingers pressed to the skin over his ribs. Not gripping, just…resting.

 _Kakashi_ , he thinks, and it’s startling all over again.

There's a quiet noise, a huff, and Kakashi curls closer to his back, nosing into his hair. His breath tickles Obito's throat, makes heat shudder through him in an involuntary burst that tears a gasp from his lips, pulls a shiver from under his skin. He freezes, body already tensing, because the only time Madara is this close is to fuck him and to feed, but Kakashi is still definitely asleep. Still asleep, not hard, not grabbing Obito at all, just—sleeping. With Obito.

He swallows, carefully easing forward and out of Kakashi’s grasp so he can sit up. It gets him a quiet sound of complaint, but Kakashi rolls forward and buries his face in Obito's pillow, pulling that into his arms instead, and Obito can't quite fight a smile. Can't resist the urge to reach out, smoothing down wild white hair that’s currently sticking up at impossible angles. Kakashi looks peaceful, relaxed, and it twinges through Obito's chest. For a long moment, all he does is stare, trying to fix the image of this in his mind, this perfect second with Kakashi and warmth and no pain beyond the ever-present background itch of hunger.

This is going to have to tide him over for a long time, but—

If it can't, Obito doesn’t think anything ever would.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to Kakashi’s cheek, tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear. Lets his lips linger against warm skin, because this has to last, this memory. Last him _years_ , maybe, if Madara doesn’t kill him before then. Obito can make it, can hoard it the way he does a handful of other memories, and that’s enough. It’s always enough.

(It has to be.)

He takes a breath and slides out of bed, tensing a little as his feet hit the floor, but—no pain. Only the twinge of the bites, half-faded already and easily overlooked. It’s strange, but a welcome change, and Obito appreciates it when he has to slide back into pants with little give to them. His shirt is on the trunk, and he pulls it on and buttons it defiantly, then scrounges around under the bed for a moment to find the necklace and bracelets Kakashi took off last night. It would probably be smarter to put them back on, but there's no force on earth that could make Obito wrap something Madara gave him around his neck like a pretty collar, so he stuffs them in the waistband of his pants—no pockets, because of course Madara wouldn’t pick anything that was actually _useful_ —and slips over to the door on silent feet.

No sound from beyond, even to vampire hearing, and Obito sighs faintly, relieved. It’s all too easy to remember that he’s currently sharing a suite with the Deathless and his lone wolf bodyguard, and even if the sun isn’t completely down yet, that certainly doesn’t matter to a necromancer. Obito definitely doesn’t want _either_ of them to see him coming out of their son’s room.

The door to the other bedroom is closed, though, and the suite is silent. Obito gives the pale robes on the loveseat a wary look as he crosses to the main door, but no spirits grab for him and no alarms go off as he slips into hallway, so he’s willing to assume he got away undetected. There's also no one else waiting, no stirring in the hall or noises from behind the doors, and Obito picks up his pace as he heads for where the corridor dead-ends against the cliff face behind the court. A painting of a darkened forest hides a passage back to where Madara's Children sleep, and Obito takes it at a near-run. He wakes up earlier than most in the nest—it’s always been that way, even when he was younger, but he’s never questioned the fact given how useful it is. It means there’s no one waiting when he drops out of the hole behind a tapestry, right across from his room.

Letting out a breath of relief, Obito shoves the door open, catches the knife that drops from the trap, and then kicks it closed again. The room is almost completely bare, only a chest of drawers and a bed to fill the space, but it’s not like Obito is ever able to spend much time here. He grimaces a little at the chill that’s seeping into his feet, even if it doesn’t precisely bother him—it feels like he’s losing Kakashi’s heat, and that’s…unhappy. Unpleasant. Inevitable.

 _Stop it_ , Obito tells himself firmly, tugging the blankets on the bed out of place as he passes. It only takes a moment to make it look like he slept there, and he drops the jewelry from his pocket on the dresser and pulls open the top drawer. The false bottom comes away easily, since Obito knows the trick of it, and he lets out a breath of relief at the sight of his set of knives underneath. Gifts, mainly, though there are two he stole from Madara as well—Kisame in particular likes to give him a new knife on every occasion, and having them has become something of a comfort.

He wonders, as he straps one around his ankle and slides another to rest in the small of his back, where Kisame is right now. Obito never saw him last night, and even when he’s excused from court he tends to turn up and lurk around the edges. Maybe he finally scared his stoner to death and had to hide the body, Obito thinks, and snorts. Whoever it is, he hopes—

The door flies open with a crash, rebounding off the wall and slamming shut again as Madara storms through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakumo watches Tobirama make his way back over to his clan, deeply amused by the sheer amount of theory he and Orochimaru managed to fit into an hour of conversation, and then turns to look at his lover. 
> 
> One brow rises at the dazed look on Orochimaru’s face, the way his lover is still staring blankly after the other man, and if Sakumo’s honest with himself he’s more than a little jealous that he wasn’t the one to put that look there. 
> 
> “Lovely?” he asks lightly, catching Orochimaru’s pale fingers in his own. Trying to figure out what’s twisting him up in knots, he replays the last few seconds of their conversation - about the only part Sakumo has been able to parse in the last hour, really - but it seemed like a basic exchange to pleasantries to him.
> 
> Orochimaru takes a breath, then turns on Sakumo in a whirl of grey and lavender cloth, and those lovely golden eyes are dilated and - 
> 
> Oh.
> 
> _Oh._
> 
> “Sakumo,” Orochimaru says, elegant and even and perfectly composed, except that Sakumo can hear the double-time pace of his heart, smell the sudden crash of arousal flooding his system. “Sakumo, you had better find us a room with a sturdy wall and a door that locks, or I will not be held responsible for stripping you in full view of Madara’s court.”
> 
> Heat bolts through Sakumo’s veins, enough to steal his breath completely, and he wastes no time wrapping an arm around Orochimaru’s waist and making tracks for the hall that leads to the kitchens. 
> 
> “Talking shop effected you that much?” he jokes, even as he rapidly sorts through the scents in the hall, picks the door to a small library, and drags Orochimaru through it.
> 
> He barely has time to turn around before his back is thudding into the closed door, and a beautiful necromancer is rapidly undoing his pants. 
> 
> “Tobirama Senju just told me that my breakthrough on resurrection techniques was brilliant and something he hadn’t considered,” Orochimaru informs him, and it sounds nearly orgasmic. “Elder gods, Sakumo, I have never been this turned on in my _life_.”
> 
> Sakumo can’t decide if he wants to laugh or fall to his knees and worship. “Well,” he rasps, getting his hands on Orochimaru’s hips and hauling the smaller man right up against him. “I think I can do something about that.”
> 
> “You’d better,” Orochimaru says, all dark, wicked intent, and his kiss is hot and deep enough to drown in.
> 
> If this is the result, Sakumo decides, Orochimaru is welcome to talk theory with Tobirama at _any_ time.


	14. Asking those idle questions which of old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fairly dark and rather violent - Obito gets tossed around by Madara, and there's red shirt death, but nothing beyond that.

Obito spins just in time to duck the first grab for his hair, but with a vicious snarl Madara catches him by the throat and slams him bodily back into the wall, hard enough that Obito can feel stone dent under him. He yelps, grabbing for Madara's wrist with both hands, but he isn’t strong enough to even shift his Sire’s grip.

“ _You_ ,” Madara hisses, and fear tumbles through Obito like a river in flood, sweeping away all coherent thought except for Kakashi, asleep and vulnerable and all too close. He struggles, trying to kick Madara away, trying to get loose, but Madara shoves him up against the stone, eyes red and furious, and slams his head back by the hair.

“You little _rat_ ,” he growls, and Obito shudders despite himself, eye closing so he doesn’t have to see what's coming. Instantly, Madara shakes him, hard enough to rattle his teeth, and his eye flies open again as Madara snarls in his face. “Don’t you _dare_ look away! This is your own fault, brat!”

“ _What_ —” Obito manages to choke out, but before he can even start to protest darkness warps around them, and they're suddenly somewhere else. There's no wall behind Obito, and he falls backwards, tumbling to the floor with a cry. The grip on his hair goes tight, dragging him up, and he gasps as pain lances through his scalp, scrabbling to get his feet under himself as Madara drags him through a doorway. A heave, a jerk, and Obito rolls across the floor as Madara tosses him like he weighs nothing, slamming into silver that burns with purity. He can feel his flesh sizzling, and he scrambles away even as a cry tears from his throat.

Madara catches him by the arm, drags him forward and up onto his feet regardless of Obito's attempts to twist away. “ _Look_ ,” he hisses, shaking Obito hard and then jerking him forward, and Obito catches himself on the bars and shrieks when silver starts to burn again. He jerks, but Madara only gives him a bare inch of room as he forces Obito's head around. “ _Look_ , you little whore!” he repeats, and Obito fights through the pain, the line of agony down his cheek and chest and across his palms, to find—

A cell. A cell with the door hanging open and a hole in the rear wall, scattered chunks of stone leading into the forest like bread crumbs. One of Madara's guards is collapsed on the ground, halfway between his bear form and his human skin, clearly unconscious, and there's a scrap of fabric in his claws, deep copper laced with glittering black.

Obito's first through it one of overwhelming relief, a surge of vicious satisfaction. Clearly Kushina found Mikoto, got her out while the rest of the court slept, and Obito wants to laugh no matter how stupid it is. Mikoto _beat Madara_ , and in that moment he adores her for it, fierce and wild. She got away, and Obito has never been prouder of anyone.

(Kakashi is _safe_ , he hardly lets himself think. Madara doesn’t _know_.)

“Who—” he starts, breaks off to gag as the burn of flesh and the smoke from the silver clog his throat. “Who was in here?”

Madara makes a sound of pure fury, animalistic and terrifying enough to make Obito's stomach turn. Another warp takes them, spinning shadows blurring Obito's vision for half a second before he slams into another wall, pinned there with a hand around his throat.

“I _saw_ you,” Madara growls. “Uzumaki’s magic is all over that cell, and _you_ were the one who spoke with her. _You_ are the one who knows every side hall and secret passageway in this court. This is _your_ doing, making me look the fool. I hope it was worth it, Obito, because you’ve earned quite a lot of suffering with your stupidity.”

Obito could deny it, could protest that Kushina was the one who came up to him, who dragged him around the court and only spoke to him for a handful of seconds. He could tell Madara that he has no idea what he’s talking about, could bow and scrape and appease, tell Madara he would never betray him—

Instead, Obito laughs. He tips his head back against the stone and laughs in Madara's face, digging his fingernails into the man’s wrist until he smells blood.

“All I told Kushina was where to find her,” he says, and there's a grin curling his mouth, on the verge of mad, but—it feels _good_. He’s terrified, but it doesn’t _matter_.

Madara is never going to have him again, not in any way that matters.

There's a pause, careful and assessing, and then Madara makes a sound of derisive amusement. It’s so jarring against the fury that Obito looks at him automatically, and flinches despite himself. All that’s in Madara's eyes is rage, deeper and vaster than Obito has seen since he attempted to kill his Sire the last time, and even if he’s smiling there's nothing of comfort or civility in the expression. Just malice, bloody and terrible, and Obito goes still like a mouse before a cobra at the sight of it.

“Oh, Child,” Madara murmurs, lifting a hand to frame Obito's scarred cheek, and Obito cringes on instinct even though Madara's touch seems gentle. “Fifty years of protecting you, of _caring_ for you, and this is how you repay me? With betrayal?”

Obito swallows hard, but doesn’t let himself quail. “I _hate_ you!” he snarls. “You fucking bastard, all I want is to drive a stake through your fucking heart!”

Madara's grip shifts. He steps forward, pressing himself up against Obito in parody of a hug, and loosens his grip on Obito's throat to drop one hand to his hip instead. “You _hate_ me?” he says gently, and the hand on Obito's cheek slides back into his hair, cupping the back of his skull. “But dearest, I _love_ you. When I punish you it’s for your own good. Why must you fight me like this? I chose you, picked you from a thousand other potentials, made you mine _forever_ because I love you so much.”

That maddening croon right in his ear—it’s like poison, leeching into all of Obito's muscles, sliding down his spine to leave him paralyzed. His breath catches in his throat, and he can't move, can't even twitch as Madara presses his lips to his scarred cheek. Those fingers stroke his scalp, soothing the sting, and Madara hums gently. “I told you, didn’t I, my cute little brat?” he murmurs. “You're the best thing I ever made.”

An involuntary whimper tears out of Obito's throat, and he realizes belatedly that he has a hand fisted in the back of Madara's shirt, unable to tell if he’s trying to drag him closer or hold him back. He shudders, feeling like he wants to crawl out of his own skin, and—

Madara's hand tightens around his hip, slides down to grip his thigh, and one of his fingers presses right over the bite there. Obito yelps, the shock of pain jarring through him, and jerks even as Madara lifts him one-handed, pinning him to the wall with his body. The heat of Madara's mouth slants across his throat, over another of the bites, and he croons, “Why don’t you tell me what Uzumaki said, hmm? We can forget all about this if you do. One night of punishment and it will all be over, pet. I love you and I only want the best for you, dearest, you have to know that after all these years.”

Obito gasps out a sob as teeth skim his jugular, shudders under the press of Madara's mouth. One of his hands finds Madara's hair, fisting in thick strands, and he squirms like he can't decide whether he wants to push closer or get away.

It gives him just enough room to slide the other hand between himself and the wall, to where the hilt of his knife is digging into his spine.

“She didn’t—” He breaks off with a yelp as Madara presses the heel of his hand to Obito's cock, and he has to turn his head away so Madara won't see the disgust that flicker across his face before he can get himself under control. He’ll have to move quickly, though—if Madara notices he’s not getting hard he’ll probably take it as a personal affront. Either that or a challenge.

“Didn’t tell you anything?” Madara breathes in his ear. “Now why do I find that so doubtful, my sweet? You looked so _cozy_ together.”

Obito grits his teeth, pushes his fingers through Madara's hair until it tumbles forward and blocks his vision on his left side. There’s only going to be a half-second to try this, but Obito _has to_. There's no other choice, not when Madara is hard against his thigh, ready to fuck him. Ready to _torture_ him, because that’s what his punishment is. And regardless of what Madara said about just one night, Obito _knows_ how this game goes. One night turns into six months, and when he comes out on the other side he’s so broken that all he can do for the next decade is cling to Madara and beg for scraps of comfort to make the waking nightmares go away.

Not again.

 _Never_ again.

“She only said she was here for Mikoto,” he whispers, tilting his head back as Madara's lips slide up to kiss his jaw. “Madara— _please_ —”

“Shh,” Madara tells him, but the curve of his mouth is smug, satisfied. “What a good boy, Obito. Even when you betray me, you’re so quick to see the light.”

Obito bites his lip until it bleeds, counts seconds until Madara's grip on his thigh eases just slightly, and smiles to himself. He thinks of Kakashi curled against him, the gentle press of his mouth, the shape of his smile. Thinks of care and gentleness and the way Kakashi breathed compliments into his ear, told him he was beautiful and perfect and made him laugh.

Thinks of waking up warm and _happy_ , safe from the lingering fear of old memories, and curls his fingers around cool metal.

“I could never betray you,” he whispers, feels Madara's pleased hum against his skin, and laughs even though it cracks in his throat. “Madara, _never_. Because _I was never loyal to you in the first place._ ”

He yanks the knife from its sheath, brings it up, slams it down into Madara's back, and the sizzle of silver in undead flesh is drowned out by Madara's scream. He jerks away, hurling Obito to the side, and Obito hits the ground hard, rolls into the bottom of a tall shelf with a cry. Glass rains down around him, shattering loudly, and noxious liquid pools under him to make his footing treacherous as he scrambles to his feet.

With a snarl, Madara wrenches the knife from his back, letting it clatter to the ground. He’s breathing hard, face hidden behind his wild hair, and for a long moment there's no sound at all.

Then, low and dark, Madara laughs.

“Oh, Child,” he purrs, straightening up, and his features are shifting, changing, turning to something that Obito can only call _demonic_. Long teeth gleam in the low light as he bares them in a deadly grin, and his bones are thickening, getting heavier. “My dear, _sweet_ Child. I've been so kind to you all these years when nothing required it of me. But now—now I’ll show you just how unkind I can be.”

Obito swallows, but he pulls his second knife from the holster on his ankle, curls his fingers just tight enough around the hilt. “ _Kind_?” he spits. “You were only fucking _kind_ when I played the good little slave, and even then only when it _pleased you_. No more, Madara.”

Madara chuckles, straightening up, and every trace of humanity has slid out of his handsome face, left him something reptilian and twisted. It makes something sick and trembling knot in Obito's stomach, an echo from fifty years ago, waking up with that face above him and an immovable grip pinning him down. He’d fought and cried and screamed until his throat was raw, and Madara had turned him anyway, taken his blood and forced his own down Obito's throat until he choked and swallowed and felt it blaze through his veins like acid, changing him from the inside out.

Madara had been gentle, afterwards. He’d told Obito how he had fallen in love with him, how he wanted him forever, how he’d given them eternity, and Obito had fallen for the lies. But—that face will never not mean terror to him, even when he sees it in the mirror.

“No more?” Madara mocks, spreading his hands wide. “You’ve said that before, pet. In this very room, even. Don’t you remember?”

What?

Obito stares at his Sire for a long moment, then risks a glance around them. Stone walls, a wide, long room that feels like it’s deep under the earth. Metal racks around the edges, and a metal table in the center with chains that shine like polished silver. Spell circles set into the floor, carved deep with patience and magic. Tables with trays, and shelves lined with vials and tools and dark, thick books, a flickering light above—

Oh.

Oh _fuck_.

Nausea washes through Obito, and he staggers back, bare feet crunching through broken glass. It’s not a pain that registers, though, not with the blaze of memory across his nerve endings, the terror and horror of Madara strapping him down, a man with a scar on his chin looming over him dispassionately as he screamed. His breath is coming too quickly, heartbeat tripping in fear, and he strangles the sob that wants to shake loose, grip slipping on his knife.

“No,” he chokes out.

Shadows warp, and Madara steps out of thin air in front of him, grabbing him by the throat. He tosses him easily, watches Obito crash into another shelf and go tumbling to the floor in a cascade of breaking glass with a cruel smile.

“Oh yes,” he laughs. “We’ve come all the way back here, pet. Isn’t it nostalgic?” Another twist of darkness and he hauls Obito up by the arm, throws him against the edge of the table and then pins him there as Obito thrashes desperately to get away. Hands catch his wrists, and Madara leans in, a beast plucked directly from Obito's worst nightmares. “Do you remember? I think you must, hm?”

Not everything. Not all of it, but _enough_ , and Obito shudders, closing his eye and wrenching his head away, trying to put more space between them. There's nowhere to go, though, no possibility of escape with Madara in front of him and cold metal at his back. The knife is still clutched desperately in his hand, but Madara's grip is immovable, inescapable. He’s trapped.

With a chuckle, Madara leans in and kisses him, even as Obito shrieks and claws at him, thrashes and tries to kick him away. But that mouth finds Obito's, sharp teeth tearing his lips as a forked tongue flickers over his, and Madara laughs, pulling away with blood painting his mouth. He kisses Obito's thundering pulse, then murmurs, “I think a few weeks down here and you’ll remember who you belong to, brat. And maybe then I’ll keep you in my chambers for a few years, always ready and willing to please me. After that you should be back to your regular sweet, biddable self. My pretty little consort, fully mine once more.”

Fuck. It’s exactly like what happened before, only this time Obito isn’t a new vampire, easily twisted and molded. Madara is going to break him anyway, but this time it will be harder, will hurt more, and Obito—

He won't give in so quickly this time, either.

With a desperate snarl, he slams a knee up, catching Madara right in the dick, and when Madara yelps and loosens his grip, Obito shoves bodily into him, knocking them both over. He flips the knife in his hand and slashes down, missing Madara's throat when his Sire jerks aside but still scoring a deep cut across his shoulder. Madara flips him, but Obito twists in midair and lands on his feet, darts out of the way of Madara's lunge and slices at the fingers that try to grab his hair. Madara gets a hand on his sleeve, but the silk tears like tissue, and Obito ducks away, yanking his arm out as Madara tries to haul him back. He staggers away, bloody feet slipping painfully on the stone, and his back slams into the wall as Madara appears out of nothing in front of him, hand locking around his throat.

Obito chokes, kicking out, tries to stab him again only to have Madara catch his wrist.

“You fucking _bastard_ ,” he grits out, twists hard, and kicks Madara right in the face. The man staggers back, and Obito ducks sideways, putting his back to the open room. He presses a hand to his bruised throat, coughs but doesn’t waver as he brings the knife back up, settling himself.

“You say I'm your consort?” he demands, and the words are fierce and wild on his tongue, edged with a laugh that’s caught halfway between freedom and fury. “Well, consider this a fucking _divorce_.”

 

 

“Time to go!”

Kakashi isn’t sure whether it’s his father’s cheerful voice that wakes him or the impact of his swords—thankfully still sheathed—dropping on his head. Before he can even register that he’s awake, he has them in hand, staggering out of bed and immediately lunging for his clothes.

A high, shrill scream splits the air, and Kakashi curses, wrenching his pants on so fast he almost loses something valuable in the process.

With a laugh like this is all great fun, his father chucks him his sword belt, calls, “Hurry up, cub!” and drops. His eyes burn silver, and even as he hits the ground on all fours his skin splits, grey-white fur rolling out to cover him as bones crack and reform. Barely a second later, a massive timber wolf is rising to his full height, bounding through the doorway and right past Orochimaru to crash into a vampire trying to get through the doorway.

Vampire.

 _Obito_.

Kakashi spins, looking back towards the bed, but it’s empty. Obito's clothes are gone, and the only trace of his presence is the indent in the other pillow. Kakashi stares for half a heartbeat, cursing inwardly, before another shriek makes him turn back. He belts his swords on, draws them both with a smooth twist as he turns to meet a lunging wolf, smaller and less sleek than his father’s huge form. It slams into the crossed blades, bounces off, then rounds on him again, and Kakashi flips one sword up as he sweeps the other out in front of him, catches the falling blade while the werewolf is distracted, and cuts its head off with a hard swing.

When he staggers into the main room, still dragging his shirt on, Orochimaru is already there and weaving spells, his fingers dancing through the air. Silver flashes dart around him, and as Kakashi watches a pale shroud flickers into existence, wrapping around one of the guards from the court last night and making her scream. A moment later it fades out, and the woman drops, lifeless and pale, only to pull herself to her feet again. Her movements are smooth, none of the lurching steps of a less talented necromancer’s zombie as she throws herself at one of her former comrades, spear leading.

Kakashi always forgets just how _useful_ it is to fight on the same side as a necromancer.

“Was it something we said?” he asks dryly, even as he ducks under a vampire’s lunge and lets the man roll over his back, then spins to drive a sword through his chest and sidesteps as his father goes crashing past him, bearing a lion down to the floor with a snarl.

“I would assume something happened that Madara thinks we are to blame for,” Orochimaru answers absently, and there’s a skeleton pulling itself out of the wall beside the door. “Or he noticed just what you and his consort were doing this morning.”

Fuck, _Obito_. Kakashi’s breath knots in his chest, even as he kicks another vampire away from Orochimaru. “We have to find him,” he says. “He left, he’s not—”

“There are almost a hundred vampires in this nest,” Orochimaru interrupts, “and probably at least that many guards, most of them shapeshifters. Kakashi, we _cannot_.”

Kakashi snarls, because he _knows that_ —no matter how strong his father is, or how skilled Orochimaru is, two hundred against three isn’t a fight anyone can win. And that’s not even accounting for Madara, who’s old and powerful and cunning enough to have survived with the entirety of the Hunters after his head. But if Madara _knows_ , and has Obito—

He catches a vampire’s hand as it grabs for his throat, ducks down, and flips her over his shoulder for Orochimaru’s skeleton to deal with. “I _can't_ leave him,” he says.

“We don’t have a choice.” Orochimaru grabs his arm, sweeps a hand around them, and calls, “Sakumo!”

The wolf changes directions mid-lunge, twisting around another vampire and bounding towards the doorway as Orochimaru’s veil coalesces. Kakashi can see the way eyes suddenly slide past them, focusing on Sakumo as he barrels straight into the guards just coming through the door. The moment they're out of the way, Orochimaru rushes past, flicking a hand out behind them. More spirits pull themselves out of the air, seeping into the suite like a deadly mist to block the entrance, and he smirks faintly in satisfaction. Sakumo shakes the blood from his muzzle, leaping after them, and slides under the veil with the ease of familiarity.

“We need to find the exit,” Orochimaru tells him. “Or a window at the very least.”

With an agreeable rumble, Sakumo turns sharply, heading down another passage, and Orochimaru follows without hesitation, pulling Kakashi along by the wrist.

Kakashi can't resist one last glance back at the hallway as they run, chest aching sharply, and hopes that Obito can stay safe until Kakashi can slip away to find him.

Unfortunately, Orochimaru knows him well enough that he isn’t letting go, and Kakashi knows his own odds against his stepparent well enough not to try and make him. He follows closely as they climb a familiar flight of stairs, but instead of leading them back to the audience chamber Sakumo turns into a much smaller side corridor, slamming a vampire out of his way and loping down an inclined hall. There's a garage at the end of it, wide and echoing, with doors standing open from what must have been someone’s hasty exit. And outside­…

Kakashi whistles, loud and sharp, even as he turns, one sword coming up to block a guard’s blade. The man growls at him, pulls back to swing again—

And crumples as Bull crashes into him, bearing him to the ground with a snarl as the rest of the pack sweeps in around them. Kakashi lets out a breath of relief, tipping a sword to Minato in salute at the Hunters emerge from the trees around the entrance, and tries not to roll his eyes too visibly as Orochimaru finally releases him, only to drop to his knees next to Sakumo murmuring compliments.

“Kakashi,” Minato says in relief, hurrying down the ramp to them. He waves the Hunters out as he goes, and they fan across the garage, watching the tunnels warily. “Something went wrong?”

“Apparently,” Kakashi says dryly, scanning for faces. No Jiraiya or Aoba, so Minato hasn’t called for backup yet. “They came after us, but I didn’t hear any kind of explanation.”

“Nor did they give me one after they broke down the door,” Orochimaru offers, pushing back to his feet. Sakumo is tall enough that he has to raise his arm to put a hand on the wolf’s back, and Kakashi can never decide if they make a ridiculous picture together—massive pale wolf and slender, eerie beauty—or a lovely one.

Minato is frowning, mouth an unhappy slant as he glances back towards the forest. “We’re not prepared for a full-on fight here,” he says. “Especially not against a whole nest. We should—”

With a wildcat’s snarl, a woman lunges out of the darkness, aiming right for Minato. She’s already mid-shift, black fur exploding over her skin as her body reforms, and she’s too quick, too unexpected. Kakashi leaps for her, already knowing he won't get there in time, that Minato doesn’t have a weapon in hand yet and even he can't get to one fast enough—

There's a blur of golden-brown, and Genma hits the leopard full-on, knocking her away from Minato. They crash to the ground in a tangle, and a shout of horror tears from Kakashi’s throat. He’s expecting a spray of blood, a scream, flesh tearing under massive claws.

What he gets instead is a wash of golden fur, a twist of bones shifting, and a mountain lion topples the smaller leopard over and tears out her throat with a snarl.

Some part of Kakashi’s brain is frozen, replaying that moment over and over. Genma wasn’t _just_ infected in this moment—people don’t change until the next full moon after they were bitten, and he’d be the same kind of shifter as the one who bit him. This is something Genma already knew about, and given the way Minato is shouting orders without missing a beat, he did as well. There's too much else to focus on to dwell on it, though—Madara's Children are pouring into the garage, plus more guards, and there are maybe ten Hunters, a necromancer, and a werewolf to stop all of them.

 _Fuck_ seems like something of an understatement in this case.

“Retreat!” Minato calls. “Get back to the woods and lose them in the trees!” He must catch the expression on Kakashi’s face, because he adds firmly, “Kakashi, _now_.”

That tone means Kakashi is going to get knocked out and carried if he doesn’t agree, and Kakashi growls deep in his throat, whistles for his dogs, and heads for the trees. Genma, still in cougar form, brushes past his leg like he’s urging Kakashi to go faster, and Kakashi gives him a meaningful look.

“We’re definitely going to talk about you keeping secrets. _Again_ ,” he says pointedly.

The big cat chirps, just like a housecat would, and in a surge of sleek muscle bounds up to Minato's side, pushing up against his leg before falling back to guard the rear. Sakumo is already there, intercepting the first of the vampires, but Kakashi forces himself to keep moving, staying in step with Minato. Another whistle has his dogs gathering, falling in towards the center of the group, and Kakashi does a quick headcount—

“Wait,” he says sharply, coming to a dead stop even as Minato grabs his arm. “Where’s Ūhei?”


	15. Man sought of seer and oracle, and no reply was told

Something’s happening.

On edge and unhappy about it, Aoba checks on their unconscious guest one more time, paces three circuits around the living room, and then forces himself to stop and breathe. His eyes itch, and with a groan he shoves his sunglasses up and rubs at them. Even the low light in the room, filtering in from the kitchen, is enough to make them sting more, but Aoba just spreads his hand across his face, trying not to look at anything in particular. Sometimes, if he doesn’t focus, it gets easier.

There's a quiet pad of footsteps, too light for such a big man, and then a soft, “Is it another headache, beloved?”

Aoba doesn’t bother to pull his glasses down as he turns to give Gai a quick smile. Like always, the man is glowing just a little, as warm and gentle as a spring sun, and it eases the ache. “No, no, I'm fine. You're home early today. No classes?”

Gai beams at him, settling his hands on Aoba's hips and pulling him close. Aoba folds into the hug with a sigh, curling his hands over Gai's broad shoulders and leaning his forehead against his chest as he takes another slow breath. This close, Gai's glow is somehow even gentler, and Aoba swears he can feel the warmth of it on his face. It’s beautiful, and he’s never seen another person with this kind of light in them. The first time they’d met, when Kakashi dragged him over as a sacrificial offering to Gai's attention, Aoba had honestly thought Gai was…something supernatural. A fraction of a god bound in human form, maybe. And then several more ridiculous ideas, right up until Kakashi kicked him in the ankle and told him to stop staring, that Gai was human and not about to eat him.

A thumb brushes lightly across the scars painted over his eyes, and Gai asks, “Should we go out and find someone? Perhaps that will take your mind off things. Or I could help.”

Aoba smiles into his turtleneck, wondering yet again how he managed to land someone so understanding, so willing to compromise. Gai's not a fan of sex and only has it rarely, while Aoba _is_ a fan and will take as much as he can get. Sometimes Gai indulges him, but more often they’ll pick up a third for Aoba to play with while Gai watches—Kakashi, sometimes, or Genma before he found someone else, or even just someone in a bar who’s open to trying things.

It’s a sweet offer, both parts of it, but for all that he would usually jump on it Aoba knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate tonight.

“Not right now,” he says regretfully, and sighs a little when Gai's arm loops around his shoulders. “I think I'm going to go up and check on the birds. Dinner should be ready when the timer goes off. You good to take it out of the oven and make a salad?”

“I think I can manage that much,” Gai agrees cheerfully, though he watches Aoba closely for a moment. “Is your friend joining us?”

It takes effort not to grimace. Kisame is currently sleeping off that knife to the shoulder, and he should be awake soon. Hopefully soon enough to give Aoba more information, though Minato still isn’t answering his phone. Not that this is much of a surprise—he’d warned Aoba that they might end up behind one of Madara's barriers, and active magic and cell signals don’t tend to mix. Still, if Kisame can give him _anything_ concrete, especially a timeline, Aoba will haul himself out to the forest somehow, or send one of his crows if he’s really desperate. They're not always the most reliable, and they’ll sulk for weeks if he uses them for something as pedestrian as playing messenger, but they can find almost anyone if they put their minds to it.

“There should be enough if he wants some,” Aoba says, which is noncommittal enough that he doesn’t have to make an actual decision. “And…thanks. For not caring that I dragged him back.”

Gai laughs, a little more quietly than normal in deference to the man asleep in their guest room, and kisses the bridge of Aoba's nose. “Our first aid kit is well stocked for just these occasions!” he reminds Aoba cheerfully, and that’s honestly probably understating things. Aoba has been to hospitals that are less prepared for disaster than their bathroom. “I'm just glad it wasn’t you this time, my dear.”

“Me too,” Aoba mutters, because if he got hurt _again_ Minato and Kakashi would probably drag him over to the Archives and leave him to molder on desk work for the rest of eternity. Pushing up on his tiptoes, he kisses the corner of Gai's mouth, then pulls away and steps back. “Okay, I’ll head up. Come get me when everything’s ready?”

“Of course!” Gai gives him the beaming, besotted smile Aoba loves so much and lets him go, though he watches as Aoba heads for the darkened stairwell. It’s tempting to glance back, but with the light of the kitchen behind Gai it would only be painful, so Aoba just waves over his shoulder and heads up the stairs. There are no windows, and the unbroken darkness is enough to make Aoba let out a breath of relief and finally stop squinting faintly.

Another thing Aoba never expected anyone else to be able to cope with: how he lives primarily in the darkness, from the hours he keeps to the way he never turns a single light on without his glasses in place, and even then never unless he absolutely needs to. But three years in and Gai seems to have adjusted just fine.

The door to the roof is just slightly ajar, the way it always is, and Aoba nudges it open to the sound of birds settling, feathers rustling, quiet caws and croaks. He smiles, pausing for a moment to let his eyes adjust, and is grateful all over again that their street is run-down and sports only a single working light at the far end of the block. It’s late enough for the shadows to have settled in, and Aoba can finally _see_ without darkened lenses between himself and the world.

There's a loud caw right above him, and an instant later a heavy weight drops onto his shoulder. The biggest of Aoba's crows tugs on his hair with a pointed admonition, and Aoba snorts, putting up a hand to stroke his breast.

“Dagda,” he says with amusement. “Still making trouble?”

Dagda clucks like a hen, then lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a police siren.

“That’s what I thought,” Aoba agrees dryly. He crosses the space to the perches, tallying who’s in—most of them, it looks like, but then they know he only hunts at night, so they tend to gather about this time. Two of the females are on their nests, and Aoba ducks down to check on them. Aveta is asleep, but Banba clicks a greeting at him, and one of her little black puffballs of a chick stirs, peeps, and subsides again.

With the air of a king surveying a peaceful kingdom, Dagda puffs out his chest and makes a bell-like sound.

“Yes, yes, you're the brave defender of the murder,” Aoba tells him, then straightens up and assesses the water bowls—full enough that Gai must have gotten them at some point today—then refills the food dishes with cat kibble. Normally he’d bring them a few eggs, some jerky or sunflower seeds or something extra (anything a teenage boy would eat, crows tend to love, Aoba's found) but with everything that’s happening his attention to detail is pretty terrible right now.

With a sigh, he sinks down on the low wall that surrounds the roof, back to the city’s lights and the darkness of the Nakano unspooling in front of him like a ribbon out into the countryside. Dagda shifts from his shoulder to his knee and settles there, fluffing up and hunkering down, and Aoba strokes his feathers lightly, eyes searching past the muted brilliance of Konoha. There's no possible way to know exactly where Minato's group is right now, but if he lets his eyes slip out of focus, allows himself drift to just a little in the humid night—

With a croak, Badb lands on his shoulder, startling him out of his half-daze, and he automatically raises a hand to steady her as Dagda clicks in offense. At the same moment, there are footsteps on the stairs, too heavy to be Gai, and Aoba turns to find Kisame hovering in the opening, shimmering with pale blue light and looking faintly wary as he eyes the attentive crows.

“You're up,” Aoba says stupidly, then winces inwardly. Genius intellect, yeah right. Only when he manages to keep his mouth shut. “All healed?”

Kisame chuckles, rubbing his shoulder a little sheepishly. “Pretty much,” he answers, then pauses, taking another look at the crows. “They're okay with shapeshifters?”

Shapeshifter. Aoba honestly would have gone with some kind of giant, maybe even a half-troll—he’s met a couple who were almost as hot as Kisame—but shapeshifter makes sense. Well, as long as what he shifts into is massive; if he’s a Pomeranian or something Aoba is going to lose all faith in the world.

Laying a hand over Badb’s back, Aoba whistles his signal for ally, and while none of his birds quite lose interest, the majority of them settle back down. Badb lets out an irritated croak, beating her wings, but doesn’t go anywhere, and that’s close enough to an agreement from her.

“Now they are,” Aoba tells him, keeping half an eye on Dagda, who is quite clearly reserving judgement as he watches Kisame. Not a surprise, really; Dagda was the first bird he trained, and he’s smart and vicious and cunning, sensitive to magic in a way most of them aren’t. He’s less okay with the supernatural than the others, too, though that’s probably down to being with Aoba when he got his scars.

Kisame doesn’t look entirely convinced, and he gives the perches a healthy berth as he approaches to take a seat on the wall as well. He’s still favoring his shoulder a little, which makes sense if he’s a shapeshifter. They're more sensitive to silver than any creature but a vampire.

“Your, uh.” He tips his head back towards the stairs. “He told me I’d find you up here.”

“Gai?” Aoba can't fight a smile, rubbing his pinky over Badb’s head. “My boyfriend, and yeah. These guys are mostly self-sufficient, but I like to keep an eye on them.” He pauses, watching the way Kisame's eyes drift towards the distant forest, and sits back a little. “You're not up here to talk about my fabulous birds, though. Vampire lady on your mind?”

Big hands curl into fists, and when Kisame grins there's very little humor in it. “You make a pretty good white knight, for a Hunter,” he jokes, “but she’s Senju, and one of their oldest. I don’t think wards are going to stop her for long.”

Aoba is pretty certain that they will, given that Rin was the one to put them up, and even a three-hundred-year-old vampire would be hard-pressed to break in when Aoba doesn’t specifically invite her. He keeps that to himself, though—no need to go advertising all of the Hunters’ secrets, and Rin's a big one. That’s definitely not the most pressing concern here, though.

“The Senju?” Aoba repeats, frowning. “You mean the vampire clan that used to live here? I thought they got pushed out years ago.” Hunters keep fairly meticulous records, after all, for those who can be bothered to read them, and Aoba will be the first to admit he’s a total nerd who spent most of his childhood in the Archives, pouring over other Hunters’ accounts. He’s seen bits about the Senju, but information is pretty scarce—they mostly kept to themselves, even when they controlled Konoha.

Kisame just shrugs one broad shoulder. “Apparently they want back into the city,” he says lightly. “I failed to ask why.”

Less _failed_ and more _didn’t bother_ , Aoba judges, watching him closely. Badb clicks against his ear, shifting restlessly, and Aoba automatically offers her his fingers, letting her step onto them as he considers what to say next.

“…You're trying to get someone out of Madara's court,” he offers finally. “Someone she isn’t going to save.”

With a low, dangerous chuckle, Kisame leans back on one hand, turning his gaze skyward. The moon is almost full, hanging heavy on the horizon, and it makes his eyes shine with a dark light. “Not just that she isn’t going to save. They're probably going to target him in particular.”

Aoba hesitates, torn. On the one hand, clearly it’s someone who’s managed to earn Kisame's loyalty. On the other, being a high-ranking vampire in Madara's court doesn’t exactly speak well of the person in question. “Uh, this person is…?”

Those eyes fall to rest on Aoba, and suddenly Aoba has to wonder how he could have ever mistaken Kisame for anything but a predator lurking beneath a thin human skin.

“I've been a part of Madara's court for almost ten years,” Kisame says instead of answering. “I started wanting to kill him about three hours after I met his consort.”

 _Fuck_. Yeah, that’s a high-ranking vampire all right, and no goddamn wonder the Senju aren’t willing to let Kisame get him out—as consort he’s next in line to Madara as far as power goes, and if Madara kicks it he’s pretty much guaranteed to become the next Master. Aoba swallows, taking another look at Kisame, and wonders if this was an even worse idea than he first thought.

There's a low unhappy chuckle, and Kisame looks away. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s the look most people give me when I say I want to rescue a consort.”

“Is this, like…a forbidden love thing?” Aoba asks, steeling himself a bit. He’s heard crazier things—Hunter, and all that—but…that would definitely be a romantic tragedy for the record books. Probably deserving of its own soap opera, honestly.

Kisame hesitates, considering, and then very slowly shakes his head. “I wanted to get him out the first time we met,” he says, which doesn’t exactly answer the question, but is good enough that Aoba is willing to let it go. “He’s trapped. Madara—” He breaks off, hands tightening on the edge of the wall, and Aoba can see the bricks starting to crumble under the strength of his grip. “ _You_ watch ten years of that, when he doesn’t even understand that he wants to say no, knowing that even if he _did_ say it that it wouldn’t matter to Madara, and then hear that he’s going to be _killed_ for it. I might have lost my temper.”

Not that the vampire lady noticed, though Aoba supposes when you hit three hundred pretty much everything seems like kids throwing a tantrum. Still, the picture Kisame's painting is just about the furthest thing from a happy one, and even if this _is_ about Madara's consort—well. Aoba isn’t exactly heartless, and with how loyal Kisame is, the risks he’s willing to take, there has to be at least something worth saving about this guy.

“You have any idea when the Senju are going to move?” he asks, and meets Kisame's sharp gaze as evenly as he can. Little flickers are running through the blue light that edges him, pinpoints of brilliance sparking with his surprise, and there’s nothing about him that hints at a lie. “There are Hunters in the forest right now, staking out the nest. Give me a timeframe and I’ll bring it straight to them. Maybe the Senju won't help, but we can.”

With Aoba's eyes, it’s easy enough to see the shock that flickers across Kisame's face in the darkness, the surprise that’s quickly followed by calculation. Easy enough to believe Kisame has survived ten years in a court, with that expression; he’s not just a pretty face and a collection of even prettier muscles, apparently.

“There's nothing in it for you, saving a vampire,” Kisame says, testing, though his eyes don’t waver from Aoba, full of an intensity that’s almost unnerving.

“There wasn’t really anything in it for me when I saved a shapeshifter, either,” Aoba points out, and when Kisame chuckles, conceding the point, he grins in return. “Look, in normal circumstances Madara's consort would probably be last on our list of people to save. But you're telling the truth about what his life’s like, and it sounds like he needs the help just like you did. I am a _master_ at spinning bullshit reasons, so consider Minato as good as convinced.”

There's a pause, and then Kisame chuckles again, reaching out deliberately. Aoba sees it coming in plenty of time to avoid the touch, but holds perfectly still as Kisame ghosts a thumb across his the edge of his scars, just like Gai does. “These are curse marks,” he says, interest in his gaze.

“I pissed off a witch,” Aoba confirms, and it’s been long enough since then that the words are truly cheerful. Dagda croaks reprovingly, either at him or at Kisame, and taps his beak against Aoba's kneecap, but Aoba ignores him. “I mean, I think she was going for blanket blindness, but my hunting partners jumped in and flattened her before she could finish the spell and it went…kind of haywire. Means I can see, uh, let’s call them auras, and my eyes work best in total darkness, which is pretty freaking useful for a Hunter, right?”

“Auras, huh?” Kisame regards him curiously for another moment, then chuckles. “That why you smell like weed?”

Aoba rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, okay? What I do in my free time is my own business, and it’s a lovely way to wind down from a highly stressful life as a career monster-hunter.”

“That sounds rehearsed,” Kisame points out, still grinning.

Aoba flips him off, scoops up his crows, and stands haughtily. “Excuse you, but if you think you're the first person to get on my case about this you're very mistaken. And, despite what everyone else seems to think, I am an _adult_ and I make perfectly reasonable life choices.”

“The monster-hunter thing would say differently,” Kisame says, and laughs when Aoba makes a face at him. Then, like he’s coming to a decision, he offers, “I don’t know when the Senju are moving, but I was supposed to meet the lady outside the forest tonight to help her find a back way into the nest. If that doesn’t happen, though, their plans might change.”

Or they might not, Aoba thinks, feeling a chill curl down his spine. Fuck. No wonder he’s been getting a bad feeling all evening.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says with feeling, then whistles, high and sharp. Dagda leaps from his shoulder, swooping back to the perches, even as Macha and Nemain drop from the top of the stairwell to land on his shoulders and Badb grabs his left wrist. Aoba's free hand catches the backpack full of equipment from its hiding place under the eaves of the stairs and then he’s running, leaping down the steps four at a time. From behind him, there's a sound of sharp surprise, and a moment later hurried footsteps, but Aoba is already in the living room and headed for his boots. With a reproving chatter, Nemain pecks the edge of his glasses, and Aoba hastily knocks them down, grabbing his jacket and then hauling his shoes on.

“Gai, going!” he calls back towards the depths of the house.

Gai appears in the doorway of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his pink apron, and Aoba feels a sharp pang of regret for abandoning dinner yet again. With their schedules, they don’t get to eat together nearly often enough, and Aoba had had _hopes_ about tonight before this whole thing started, but—

“It’s important,” he says, swallowing, and casts a glance at Kisame as the big man approaches. “I—you probably shouldn’t wait up.”

Being Gai, he just beams at Aoba, a flash of white teeth and a firm arm that curls around Aoba's waist to pull him in for a light kiss. “Be safe!” he says. “Wake me when you get home, and we can celebrate your triumphant return!”

At one point in Aoba's life—before Gai—that would have meant wild hot monkey sex on every solid surface in the house, or maybe greasy burgers and lukewarm fries from an all-night diner. Now it probably means ice cream sundaes with homemade fudge sauce and watching the sunrise from the rooftop.

Aoba doesn’t regret it for a second.

“Always,” he agrees, and wonders if Gai knows that that might as well be his promise to come back, no matter what.

By the way Gai's grin softens, he probably does.

“And you should take care as well!” Gai tells Kisame, rounding on him with a beaming smile. “You were gravely injured, my friend! There is no shame in holding back in the face of that!”

“Right,” Kisame says, clearly bemused. “Thanks for the wrap job.” A tip of his head indicates the bandage showing under his borrowed shirt, currently straining against muscles that manage to be even broader than Gai's.

“Yosh!” Gai flashes him a double-thumbs-up. “I am a certified first responder! It is my youthful duty to the world at large, to do what I can to help those in need!”

Gods, but Aoba loves this man. He laughs, dragging Gai down into another brief kiss, and then steps back to grab the door handle. “Later, Gai. Remember to lock up, and don’t invite anyone in, all right? Just for tonight.”

Gai's long since agreed to the distinction between allowing people to enter the gym on the bottom floor and actively inviting them to do so—it’s one of the few things Aoba's always been insistent about. He doesn’t argue now, either, just nods, and Aoba smiles at him, turns, and hits the stairs running, Kisame a step behind him.

“Going to tell me what this is about?” Kisame asks, falling in beside Aoba as he hurries towards the avenue.

“Bad feeling,” Aoba tells him, and waves a finger at his sunglasses. “Part of the deal. And with Hunters in the woods and vampires planning an overthrow? I'm inclined to think it isn’t a false alarm. We need to warn them, and since Minato and Genma aren’t answering, that means we have to find them first.”

Kisame makes a low noise that’s somewhere between doubtful and unhappy. “If they don’t agree to get Obito out,” he warns, “I’ll go in by myself.”

Yes, _that_ will end well, Aoba is sure. A shapeshifter and a former consort on the run from two vampire courts and whatever allies are part of the package deal, and then probably bounty hunters as well. And maybe even Hunters, if Aoba can't convince Minato that the consort needs help, rather than a staking.

Still, going by the look on Kisame's face, he’s well aware of the odds and will do it anyway, and that’s…really kind of admirable.

“This consort is lucky as hell to have you in his corner,” Aoba says before he can think better of it, because he’s never managed to establish any sort of working filter.

Kisame's smile is wry. “Lucky would have been if I’d managed to get him out,” he counters grimly.

“At least you’re trying,” Aoba says quietly, and tries not to feel the way his eyes sting under the streetlamp. Tries not to remember how his entire group of trainee Hunters had been killed, and he’d been dragged off, the only survivor. The witch had gloated, told him they’d held a funeral and no one was coming to find him, no one _cared_ —

Kakashi and Genma had come, though. They’d checked the bodies, found something suspicious, and saved Aoba a few minutes before he would have become a cannibalistic witch’s main course, and just knowing that they had thought about him enough to worry, to double check, to save him, had made the near-blindness that followed a hell of a lot easier to bear.

“It’s not always about what you couldn’t do.” He doesn’t look at Kisame, can't quite bring himself to do it even with his glasses on and the crows hiding most of his face. And gods, but Kakashi and Genma had both blamed themselves afterwards for the curse, but honestly? Aoba wouldn’t have cared even if the witch’s spell had succeeded fully. “Sometimes it’s how far you were willing to go that makes the difference.”

There's a long moment of silence, and then Kisame lets out a quiet breath. “My bike’s down by the bridge,” he says instead of answering. “Too far to run it?”

Aoba calculates speeds and distances, factors in how he’s not trying to haul a massive, bleeding man around this time, and makes a sharp turn down a side street. “The eight-fifteen train should be passing the park in about three minutes,” he offers, checking the time. “It’ll hit the bridge seven minutes after that, and on foot the trip will take us almost thirty. You any good at train-hopping?”

“I guess we’ll see.” Kisame grins, sharp in the shadows, and Aoba grins right back, then whistles a warning to the crows, who explode off his shoulders to whirl above them.

“Nemain, scout!” Aoba calls. “Train!”

She splits off from her sisters, winging towards where the railroad tracks turn around the tiny park, and Aoba breaks into a run, praying that they’ll make it in time. It’s a narrow window, but it will have to be enough.


	16. For, sweet, to feel is better than to know

“A divorce. Really, brat?” Madara takes a slow, graceful step forward, and there's something mad and fever-bright kindling in his dark gaze. “Such a petty, helpless little word, just like you. No wonder you’d resort to it.”

Obito bares his teeth at his Sire, even as he shifts back to keep space between them. Not that it will do much good, given Madara's ability to appear out of thin air, but at least it’s _something_. All he wants to do right now is tear Madara's heart out of his fucking chest, but even with his pulse pounding in his ears and terror sharp in his blood, he can think clearly enough to know he doesn’t stand a chance. All he can hope for is some chance to get away, not that he has much idea how he’ll manage that, either.

Still. _Still_. He’s fighting back, and more thoroughly than he’s ever managed before. Not just spitting curses and then immediately giving in, not letting himself crumple the moment Madara says _I love you_. There's blood on the knife in his hand, painted across the discarded blade on the floor, and it’s the first time he’s actually managed to hurt Madara since he set him on fire almost fifty years ago. That knowledge feels like a victory of its own, and Obito is hardly about to stop trying now.

“All I want,” he growls, “is for you to get the fuck out of my way and let me leave.”

Madara smiles. It’s the furthest thing from kind. “I'm afraid I can't let the happen, Obito. What would I do without my dearest little brat?”

Obito's fingers lock around the knife as fury courses through him. “Fucking find someone _else_ to make into your damned bloodbag!” he spits. “You’ve been feeding on me for fifty years, asshole. That’s _enough_.”

“It will _never_ be enough.” A fanged grin, sharp and hungry, and Madara vanishes. Instantly, Obito dives forward into a roll, feeling a hand just skim his shoulder, and twists back to his feet as he lashes out in a backhand swipe. The blade of his knife catches skin with a hiss of silver on undead flesh, and he drops low, switches his grip, and stabs upward.

Before he can catch Madara in the heart, the bastard is gone again, disappearing like he’s made of shadows.

With a curse, Obito dodges left, sliding under a metal cart that goes flying with a flick of Madara's hand. He grabs a handful of shattered glass and hurls it over his shoulder, then rolls to the side, snatching his first knife from the ground and spinning to slash at Madara's throat and drive him back.

“I'm about to lose my temper, brat,” Madara warns, light and chiding. “You are my perfect, special Child, my finest creation, but even for you my patience has limits.”

“Stop _saying_ that!” Obito snarls. He throws himself at Madara, slicing through his dark shirt and making the man twist aside. A backhand almost hits him, sending one knife clattering into the darkness, but Obito ducks, slides in to kick out Madara's ankle and try to hamstring him. With a snarl, Madara knees him in the face, but Obito rolls with the blow and comes back to his feet in an instant, knocking Madara's wrist aside and—

Gone.

Obito staggers, curses, and turns to scan the room. Empty and perfectly still, only the gentle seep of liquid across the flagstones and the flicker of light through the open door to draw the eye. His breathing is harsh in the silence, too fast and too shallow, but he can't manage to drag himself under control. Not now. For a moment he thinks about bolting, but there's no way to escape Madara's little teleporting trick, no chance he’ll make it out of the nest before Madara catches him.

Obito's never really expected to get out, though. Fifty years here, and in all likelihood he’ll spend the next five hundred under Madara's thumb as well, unless Madara kills him first.

He takes a breath, shifts his weight and flips the knife into a reverse grip, better for slashing. When he’d been alive, he’d been scrappy, always getting into fights, and it’s not like he’s spent the last fifty years on his back with his legs spread; even if he’s a weak vampire, he can still fight, has managed to survive this long amidst to power jockeying from the rest of Madara's Children.

It’s just—not going to be enough.

A breath in, a breath out, and he slides back a step, another. Bare feet careful on the slick floor, he backs up towards the far wall, straining his senses. He’s never found a way to tell where Madara was going to appear before, but then, he’s never really had cause to _try_.

And—there. A flicker of feeling, like a shiver down his spine, there and gone in an instant. It’s warning enough, though. He throws himself forward, dropping to one knee and sliding under the sweep of Madara's punch, comes up with his shoulder leading to catch Madara in the gut and knock him aside. A hand grabs his shirt, twists tight and wrenches, and Obito yelps as his feet leave the ground. There's a jolt as silk tears, cloth giving way and falling loose, and he hits the wall face-first but doesn’t let himself pause. Getting a hand on the stone, he shoves away, drops and rolls as Madara appears where he just was and twists back to his feet just in time to take another wild swing at his Sire.

The knife skims cloth for half an instant before Madara's hand closes around Obito's elbow, clamping down until Obito can feel the joint creak, and he cries out, swings around as he tries to jerk away but Madara is faster, gets a hand on the back of his head and slams him forward into the stone. Obito's temple cracks against the wall, hard enough to make his vision swim, but he ignores the starburst pain, the wash of blood down the side of his face as he throws himself sideways, wrenches at Madara's hands. There's half a second as Madara's grip on him slips, nails drawing blood as they scrape across his arm, and then Obito is free again. Scrambling upright, he tightens his hold on his knife, spins—

Madara's arm locks around his throat, while his hand catches Obito's wrist and twists hard. Obito shouts as bone snaps, kicks back even as the knife goes clattering from his hand, but Madara slams him into the edge of the table in the center of the room and pins him there with the weight of his body, sprawled across Obito's back.

“You want me to _stop_ marveling at the most perfect thing my hands have ever created?” Madara laughs in his ear, low and menacing enough to send a frisson of cold fear down Obito's spine. “Oh, Child. None of this would have been possible without you.” He leans forward, one hand shoving Obito's head down until his cheek slams into the metal, and carefully and deliberately drags his tongue through the blood sheeting down the side of Obito's face. “What happened to my pretty little pet, willing to burn the world in my name, hmm?”

“I grew the fuck up,” Obito snarls, and he can breathe through the agony radiating up his arm but it’s still going to slow him down. With only one hand, with the constant reminder of his broken wrist, he has less than no chance. _Fuck_. “It doesn’t fucking _matter_ how I feel, you're an _asshole_ and if I could stake you the world would probably give me a _trophy_.”

Fingers stroke his hair, mockingly gentle, as Madara makes a thoughtful sound. “But you do feel something,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Obito's temple. “You love me, don’t you? Such a good boy.”

With a hiss, Obito shoves back, writhes in Madara's grip as he tries to get free. “Fuck you, I fucking _hate you_! Fifty years of this shit, and—” He breaks off, throat closing around the words _I never loved you to begin with_. They're not true, and Obito can't make himself say them. It feels like that collar all over again, tight around his neck. A noose that could be pulled taut at any second, ready to drag him off his feet and leave him adrift.

“And you love me, even now,” Madara breathes, like he can hear the thought. The backs of his fingers skim across Obito's cheek, down his throat, and he drags his lips through the blood with a satisfied hum.

Obito shudders, because what if it’s true? What if he _does_? At this point, after feeling like this for so long, he can't tell if the emotion churning in his gut is hatred or terror or adoration, and it makes him sick.

Madara laughs into his hair, tipping his head to stroke a thumb over the ribbon of Obito's patch. “Even after I tore out your eye,” he says, “you forgave me for that, didn’t you, sweet?”

Nausea turns in Obito's stomach, because he _had_. It’s hardly even something he thinks about, just another moment of punishment that he survived. Just Madara being Madara, and a handful of days after that Madara had kissed him and teased him and treated him like something precious and Obito just—didn’t care anymore.

“You're a sick bastard,” he rasps.

He can feel Madara's grin against his cheek, wide and close to mad. “Don’t say that, dearest. It gives me hope, you know. Once this is over and done with, once you’ve forgotten the last few days, you’ll be ready to come back to my side, right where you should be.”

Obito's breath catches in his throat, and he wrenches against Madara's grip. “What?” he demands. “Fuck you, of course I'm going to _remember_ , you can't fucking take that from me—”

“Oh, but it’s so _easy_ ,” Madara croons. “I've done it before, haven’t I? Tell me, Obito, why did you try to kill me last time? Can you recall?”

Obito goes still, horror sliding through him in a slow, steady tide fit to drown. He _can't_. The recollection of the action itself is clear, but the circumstances are entirely blank. There's no memory of where it happened, or what triggered it, or who was with them. Just—darkness. Emptiness. Nothing there. Obito had set Madara on fire, called flames to his hand and turned them on him without hesitation, but—

 _Why_?

And—

Oh hells, _Kakashi_.

If Obito forgets the last few days, he’ll be forgetting Kakashi as well. No more memory of the Hunter and his dogs, no more memory of Kakashi’s kindness, his gentleness, his care. No more wanting to laugh at his ridiculousness, or stay close to him in the darkness, or—

Obito swallows hard, forcing himself to breathe. He can't—that memory was supposed to _last_ , to get him through the bad days, and if Madara takes even that from him, the one thing Obito hadn’t thought he could lose—

All of this will have been for nothing.

“Please,” he says, and it breaks in his mouth, because this is giving up, giving in, surrendering. And he doesn’t _care_ , not so long as Madara lets him keep the feeling of Kakashi’s warm arms around him in the dark, the shape of his smile pressed against Obito's skin. “Please, Madara, I’ll—”

 _Do anything_ , he almost says, but his skin crawls as Madara kisses the nape of his neck and he snaps his mouth shut before the sound of disgust can escape.

“Oh no,” Madara says, almost gently, and fangs scrape the knobs of Obito's spine. “This will be your punishment for helping Mikoto escape. You're fortunate I'm so merciful a Sire, Obito. It could be far, far worse.”

The despair is choking, filling Obito's lungs like black smoke. Squeezing his eye shut, he presses his forehead against the table, trying to shut out Madara's weight on him, the immovable force of his hand. Clearly, _clearly_ Obito was fucking _stupid_ to believe he could have anything good, even for a moment. He didn’t—didn’t even want to _keep_ Kakashi, not for himself, not when he knows exactly how broken and twisted he is, not when the face in the mirror is the monster Madara created. But he’d thought he could at least hoard the thought of him, a little bit of light and warmth in the midst of endless winter.

Now even that is going to be taken from him, he realizes, and has to fight down the shuddering sob that wants to break free.

“Shh,” Madara soothes, stroking his hair again. “It will all be better shortly, my dearest. Danzō will be here in a few hours, and then all of this will just fade away. You won't have to worry anymore.”

His chest feels like it’s full of shards of glass, like each breath should come out wet and red with blood. The fight is sliding out of his muscles, leaving him limp in Madara's hold, unable or entirely unwilling to so much as pick his head up. There's no use, no use in any of it. He tried, but Madara won so _easily_ —

A low, furious snarl shatters the air, and a moment later Madara screams.

Without warning, he’s gone, vanished back into nothingness but not before the scent of blood hits the air. Obito jerks up, turning fast enough to jar his wrist, and through the spots that swim across his vision he can just make out bright red fur, bandages, a blue collar before he’s tackled out of the way of Madara's reappearance.

 _Ūhei_ , he thinks, on the edge of disbelieving even as he crashes to the ground with the dog on top of him. Madara makes a sound of fury, and on instinct Obito wraps his bad arm around Ūhei and rolls, snatching up his fallen knife as he goes. Ūhei leaps up as Obito loosens his hold, lunges in with a loud snarl and flashing teeth to grab Madara's calf, and Obito sees the danger half a second before Madara moves. Heart pounding, he dives low, slams his knife hilt-deep in Madara's free leg before he can kick Ūhei and then knocks him over as he screams. In a practiced motion, Ūhei darts out of the way, turns sharply, and gets his teeth in Madara's masses of hair. He pulls like he’s going to drag Madara right out the door, and Obito pins his Sire’s hands with a shoulder even as Madara makes to lash out at the dog.

The blade in Madara's leg comes free with a hiss of burning silver and a splatter of blood, and Madara growls, animalistic and furious. He grabs for Obito, only to have Ūhei leap for his hand and clamp his teeth around Madara's wrist. Even with one broken wrist, that’s enough of an opening for Obito, who twists the knife around and brings it down with all the force of his body weight behind it.

The blade misses all but the edge of Madara's heart, but it’s silver. As the tip slams into the stone, grating across the floor, Madara shudders and goes still, eyes falling shut. He stops thrashing, his chest stops moving, and within a handful of seconds it’s like he’s a corpse again.

With a choked, pained breath, Obito scrambles off of him, skittering backwards until he collides with a rolling cart. It skids sideways, and Obito presses a hand over his face, trying to get his heartbeat under control.

Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_.

A cold nose touches his arm, and Obito flinches automatically, even as he raises his head. Ūhei is staring at him, brown eyes more worried than Obito has ever seen in a dog before, and he whines, low and unhappy.

Obito laughs, even though it fractures in his throat, and leans forward, throwing his arms around the dog. “He would have killed you,” he whispers. “Fuck, were you _trying_ to die? Madara would have—”

Breaking off, he glances back at his Sire’s body and shudders. He’s not dead or he would have turned to ash already—won't die without a whitethorn stake in the heart—but he’s also not moving, and Obito can only hope he’ll _stay_ that way for at least as long as it takes to get Ūhei out. To get _himself_ out, and fuck, but he moved without thinking again, leapt to save Ūhei and can't even regret it. There won't be any going back from this, but…

He couldn’t let Ūhei die. Kakashi would be heartbroken. _Obito_ would be heartbroken, and he’s only known the damned dog a handful of days now.

With a hard breath, he rubs a hand over pointed ears. “Thank you,” he tells Ūhei, who wags his tail happily and nudges at Obito's elbow.

“Right. Out would be good, wouldn’t it?” Obito hooks his fingers in Ūhei’s collar, then heaves himself upright, cradling his broken wrist to his chest. With a pleased huff, Ūhei makes for the door, pulling Obito along with him, and then scents the corridor for a moment before he tugs Obito left.

For the most part, Obito knows every bolt-hole and shortcut in the upper levels of the court, but this place isn’t one he’s ever visited willingly, and he has no idea where it even is, let alone how to get to Kakashi from here. Ūhei must know, though, since he managed to get here in the first place, and Obito wonders if that means Kakashi left. Or, worse, if Kakashi is fighting, because Madara's not exactly reasonable when he’s angry, and Mikoto escaping from one of his cells made him _furious_. If he turned on the other guests, had them attacked in their rooms after inviting them into the nest—

Well. It’s a massive offense, but Obito isn’t actually sure what any of them can _do_.

He casts a glance back at the room, feeling torn. If he pulls the knife out to behead Madara, or tries to stab him again, Madara will wake up—without even really meaning to, Obito put him in the desperate, slapdash version of a forced sleep, which would normally use a silver stake in the center of the chest. A silver knife off-center might last, but then again, it might not. Magic can be incredibly particular sometimes.

Madara waking up is too great a risk for him to chance it. Better to just get as far away as possible and pray like hell that Madara can't just teleport to him if he doesn’t know where Obito is.

A shiver traces down Obito's spine as they head up a long flight of stairs, and his grip tightens on Ūhei, who looks back at him and then immediately presses up against his leg. With a shaky breath, Obito forces himself to let go, laying his hand on the dog’s back instead.

“Sorry,” he tells him. “Just thinking.” Ūhei whines quietly, worry not abating, and Obito can't help but smile a little. “It’s okay. But—Madara said his sorcerer was coming in a few hours. He’ll find Madara, and we need to get out before that happens.”

Ūhei barks quietly, picking up his pace until he’s bounding up the stairs ahead of Obito. Easy enough to remember Kakashi ordering him to scout the street for people when they first met, and Obito assumes this is the same, so he doesn’t bother calling him back. Some people might look sideways at a dog in the halls, but there are enough shifters that Ūhei shouldn’t get more than a handful of curious glances if he _does_ encounter someone.

Obito himself will draw _slightly_ more attention, seeing as it’s clear he just about got his face pounded in. Anyone looking at him will either assume Madara got angry and did it, or that someone else did it and made Madara furious. Either way, they’ll probably beat a hasty retreat to spread the word, and that’s just about the last thing Obito wants right now.

With a click of claws on stone, Ūhei reappears around the corner and nudges Obito left. Feeling slightly bemused—because this is _definitely_ not how he pictured any portion of his night going—Obito takes the smaller side corridor that curves past a handful of dusty rooms and opens out in a slightly more familiar passage. Obito glances around them, trying to remember where exactly this is, and—

His stomach turns as it hits him. They're below the audience chamber right now, and factoring in the distance they just covered—

That torture chamber, the one from Obito's fractured memories, lies right underneath Madara's room.

“Fuck,” Obito mutters, swallowing, and feels fur slide under his fingertips as Ūhei presses against his leg. He forces himself to breathe, stroking the dog’s head, and then says, “Come on, there’s a shortcut to the garage through the kitchens. We need to get out of here before that sick bastard wakes up.”

“I swear, he never used to be like that,” a voice says lightly, and Obito almost startles out of his own skin, whipping around as he stumbles back. Ūhei snarls, hackles going up as he bares his teeth, but in the same moment a figure separates from the shadows, and Hashirama Senju raises his hands placatingly.

“Sorry to surprise you,” he says, and that smile is far too kind for any sort of vampire, though it’s vaguely sad as well. “It wasn’t my intention.”

Obito's heartbeat is pounding in his throat, and it takes effort to swallow around it. “You—what are you doing here?” he asks, and it comes out more accusing than he intends it to, but all he can think of is the friendliness Hashirama treated Madara with, the way he slung his arm over Madara's shoulders and clearly knew him well. If he realizes what Obito has done, he might decide to take revenge, or even just hold Obito until Madara can deal with him. “Visitor quarters are on the other side of the court.”

“I remember,” Hashirama says almost cheerfully. “It might have been a while since I lived here, but the layout is simple enough. But I was actually looking for you.”

He looks perfectly friendly, but Obito still feels a shiver slide down his spine, and he can't help flicking a glance at the flight of stairs at the end of the hall. Just past them is the kitchen, and beyond that may as well be freedom. If he’s stopped now, with that practically in sight—

“Oh,” Hashirama says, and suddenly he’s right in front of Obito, not Madara's disappearing trick but simply _speed_ , more than Obito has ever seen a vampire use before. He flinches back, but Hashirama just picks up his broken wrist, ignoring Ūhei’s warning growl. With startling gentleness, he inspects it, brushing a thumb over one of the very obviously finger-shaped bruises already blooming, and when he glances up there's sadness in his handsome face.

“Madara can be cruel, can't he?” he says, tired and grim, and raises his other hand to cradle Obito's wrist. Green light sparks, blooms, and Obito yelps as _heat_ rushes through him, bolting up through his veins. It takes effort not to wrench away, but he can actually _see_ the bone snapping back into place even if he can't feel it, can watch the bruises fade like a film on fast-forward. It’s not a witch’s healing, feels _green_ against his skin in a way even Rin's efforts didn’t, but it’s like every moment of peace in the forest that Obito has ever experienced, all rolled into a touch.

“What the _hell_ ,” he manages, choked, as the glimmer of magic fades.

Hashirama’s grin is back, warm and delighted. “You respond better to that than anyone I've ever met!” he says happily. “Most people that would just ease the pain, but look! As good as new!” He turns Obito's wrist carefully, but it’s entirely undamaged. Obito can't even feel any lingering stiffness.

“You—” Obito starts, but then stops again, at a loss for words.

Hashirama smiles at him, and just like he did in court he lifts Obito's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. There’s something dark in his eyes, though, something that makes Obito want to tear away from him and run. A grim, determined sort of regret, and Obito makes to step back but Hashirama doesn’t let go.

“Brother,” a sharp voice says from the far end of the hall, and Obito glances over to find Tobirama striding towards them, ghostly light flickering and sparking around him and a sword at his side.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama acknowledges, straightening, though he still doesn’t release Obito. “Any word from Tōka?”

Tobirama shakes his head, casting a cool, assessing glance over Obito that lingers on the blood streaking the side of his face, what are doubtless dark bruises rising on his throat. He doesn’t comment, though, just turns red eyes back to Hashirama. “Not yet. Madara's wards are still up, but the vast majority of his guards have been dedicated to capturing or killing all of his remaining guests.”

Obito's breath catches jaggedly in his throat, and he takes another quick step back only to come up against Hashirama’s immovable grip. If the guards have been sent after the guests, Kakashi is definitely in danger. Obito can get him out, but—

With a laugh, another shape drops down from above, landing in a crouch, and the scarred Senju grins at Obito with almost unsettling cheer. “Did you know he’s keeping Izuna's body in a secret room under his bed?” he asks brightly. “I don’t want to make incest jokes, but I think they practically make themselves in this case.”

“Kawarama,” Hashirama says, faintly disapproving, though Tobirama’s mouth curves faintly. “Where is Itama?”

“Here,” a new voice says lightly, and a young-looking man with black and white hair turns the corner behind Tobirama. He gives Obito a small, almost regretful smile, then looks at Hashirama and adds, “I know Tōka isn’t here yet, but everything is ready on our end.”

“Then we shouldn’t wait any longer,” Hashirama decides. “Tōka and Mito can join us when they get here.” He turns, and in a blur of motion too fast to follow he’s suddenly behind Obito, pulling him back against his chest as a hand catches both of his wrists, twisting them up behind his back. Obito yelps, jerking, but it’s like trying to flight Madara's hold; he can't even make Hashirama _budge_.


	17. And wisdom is a childless heritage

“Get the fuck off me!” Obito snarls, anger automatic, but when he jerks his head back sharply Hashirama simply catches it with a hand, gentle but immovable, and pulls Obito flush to his chest. His fingers splay across Obito's forehead to hold him in place, and a quiet sigh tickles his ear.

“I'm truly sorry about this,” he says, and it sounds like he means it. “Madara has too much support right now, though. Too much power. It can't be allowed to continue.”

Which is a sentiment Obito _absolutely_ supports, but it doesn’t explain _this_. He struggles, tries to kick Hashirama in the kneecap and doesn’t so much as make him flinch. “I fucking _hate_ Madara, why the hell would I help him? Let me go!”

“Somehow, you are connected to Madara's rise in power,” Tobirama tells him, steady and unwavering. There's no emotion attached to the words, nothing but solid certainty. “I don’t know how, but events line up too perfectly for it to have been a coincidence, that a year after he turned you Madara was able to beat Hashirama in single combat.”

Hashirama makes a noise that’s almost embarrassed. “It’s not that I would _mind_ if he were stronger,” he says, though Kawarama scoffs and Tobirama makes a noise of indignant protest. “But it was very sudden, even to those close to him. After he pushed us out, I just…kept an eye on him. And a handful of days after he took over the city, you were suddenly there. As long as you’ve been with Madara, he’s been stronger than he should be.”

Itama must see something written across Obito's face, because he raises a hand, looking pained. “We’re not going to _kill_ you,” he says gently, and then flashes Tobirama a faintly chiding look. “Well, _now_ we’re not.”

Tobirama huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “You told me to take care of the problem. My method would have worked.”

“You hired an _assassin_ ,” Itama says, exasperated. “That’s not a solution, that’s a last resort.”

Tobirama looks unconvinced, but Obito can hardly focus on that part. “ _You_ were the ones who hired Naka?” he demands, bristling. “What the hell?”

Hashirama easily rides out his thrashing, holding him steady. “Thankfully, it failed,” he says, and there's a smile in his voice. “You turned out to be scrappier than Tobirama expected, which is a very good thing. But it does mean we need you out of the way until we’ve figured out your connection to all of this.”

Obito snarls, twisting hard and kicking back, trying to claw at the hand holding his wrists. He might as well be fighting a statue, though. “Fuck you, I'm _leaving_ Madara! You can do whatever shit you want to him, but let me _go_.”

“We can't risk Madara getting you back,” Itama tells him gently. There's light gathering around his palm, pale gold and edged with white, and he steps closer until he’s right in front of Obito.

Hashirama’s hand slides down over Obito's eye, tilting his head back against the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “We aren’t going to hurt you. You’ll just go to sleep for a while, and when we wake you up, you’ll be free again. A hundred years can pass like a handful of moments, when you're bound.”

Cold terror and hot fury crash in Obito's veins. Being bound only means one thing, as a vampire—a magically induced sleep, in a casket wrapped with silver chains and buried on consecrated ground. A hundred years and the spell will break by itself, but—

Obito doesn’t have a hundred years to spare. Not now, and definitely not for this.

“Help!” he shouts, loud enough to echo through the hallway, even as he slams back into Hashirama. “Someone, _help_! Enemies—mph!”

“None of that,” Hashirama reproves, keeping his hand over Obito's mouth as he thrashes. “It’s only a hundred years, and when you come out you’ll be older, stronger. You won't have to serve Madara anymore, if he’s even alive then.”

That hand means Obito can't spit any of the curses he wants to, but he still snarls, fighting to get loose, get _away_ —

Ūhei, quietly lurking, suddenly lunges in like a snake, going for Hashirama’s hamstrings.

With a whirl and a flip, Kawarama leaps to intercept, kicking the dog away and landing in a crouch as Ūhei slams into the wall. Obito cries out before he can help it, but Ūhei is already staggering to his feet, shaking off the blow. He drops low, teeth bared and hackles up, growling like a demon, and Kawarama hums lightly as he pulls a short knife out of his sleeve.

“That’s a loyal dog you’ve got,” he says, somewhere between admiring and regretful. “I guess we should have grabbed him first.”

 _No_ , Obito tries to say, but it comes out strangled, muffled by Hashirama’s skin. Ūhei isn’t backing down, and Kawarama doesn’t look like he’s going to hesitate. If he kills Ūhei—

“I’m sorry,” Hashirama tells him quietly, and then looks at his Child. “Itama, go ahead.”

Ūhei darts in, trying to get past Kawarama, but the vampire knocks him away again, follows after with the knife in hand. A moment later, Itama blocks Obito's line of sight, offering a comforting smile as he presses his hand to Obito's chest.

“It’s just like going to sleep,” he says, even as pale light sparks. “If you don’t fight it, it’s easier.”

Somewhere behind him, Ūhei yelps, high and pained.

Obito doesn’t even think. He wrenches sideways, letting his legs fold, and Hashirama makes a sound of surprise as the hand over Obito's mouth slips, his grip there not tight enough to hold against the movement. Only one defense left, desperate and stupid, but Obito doesn’t have a _choice_. He snarls, baring his fangs, and as Hashirama’s hand slants back over his mouth he snaps his head forward and _bites_.

With a cry, Hashirama lets go, jerking away, but it’s too late. A wash of blood fills Obito's mouth, practically burning his throat as he swallows automatically. He’d known, intellectually, that Hashirama was old, felt the power that hung around him, vast and blazing. It’s another thing entirely to feel it like this, a blinding surge that he can feel in his veins, coursing through him with the force of a detonation. He staggers, thinks _Ūhei_ with a desperation deeper than any he usually allows himself, and—

The world inverts.

He catches Kawarama’s hand half an instant before it reaches Ūhei, puts force behind his grip for half a second and throws the older vampire right off his feet to send him rolling across the hall as the stone cracks beneath him. His ears are ringing, his vision is swimming, but he grabs the dog as he drops to one knee, wrapping his arms tight around him. From behind them there's a shout, and Kawarama is scrambling to his feet, eyes wide, but Obito doesn’t let himself hesitate. He closes his eye, feeling the ache in the empty socket, and whispers, “Kakashi.”

A twist, a fall, a flash of darkness.

Gone.

 

 

“Are you all right, brother?” Tobirama demands, grabbing Hashirama’s arm.

Hashirama lets him have it, eyes on the spot where the consort disappeared. There are deep fissures in the stone, slicing all the way through until he can see the light from the level below filtering up through the floor. Impossible, given how a few seconds beforehand Obito couldn’t manage to move Hashirama no matter how he fought. Except it isn’t impossible at all, given that it _happened_.

“Kawarama?” he asks, turning to look for the youngest member of his clan. “Are you all right?”

Kawarama slips his knife back up his sleeve, his usual smile traded for a faint frown. “I'm fine. You’ve tossed me worse when we’re practicing,” he says, then pauses, tilting his head. “That actually felt a _lot_ like you tossing me, come to think of it.”

Tobirama makes a grumpy noise, letting Hashirama’s healed wrist fall back to his side so he can cross his arms over his chest. “If he swallowed even a mouthful of Hashirama’s blood, I'm not surprised.”

It would be easy enough to agree, Hashirama thinks, rubbing his pulse point lightly. For all Tobirama’s genius, though, he doesn’t feel like that’s entirely right. Not this time. “Well,” he says, trying to keep his tone cheerful, “at the very least we’ve confirmed that his power is linked to Madara's. That was the same ability, wasn’t it?”

“I think so.” Itama gives him a small, quick smile, shaking golden light off his fingertips. “Kawa, did you find Izuna?”

“Of course!” Kawarama grins, bouncing on his toes. “We’re not going to wait for Mito to deal with him, then?”

“I think I can manage alone, just this once.” He glances over at Tobirama and Hashirama, hesitating for a moment, and then says softly, “I haven’t found Kagami yet.”

Tobirama’s mouth pulls tight, hatred flickering in his eyes for an instant before he closes them, looking down. “Izuna is the priority. I doubt Madara knows of Kagami's connection to me.”

 _But the connection between you runs so deep_ , Hashirama wants to say, but he knows Tobirama well enough to realize it won't be welcome. Still. Sometimes Tobirama just needs a bit of a push and a window-dressing of logic to do what he really wants to do.

“Kagami's abilities would be incredibly useful right now, though,” he offers lightly, and when Tobirama shoots him a narrow look he just smiles. “I’ll be fine on my own. Why don’t you look for him?”

For another moment, Tobirama hesitates, but at length he nods sharply, turns on his heel, and marches back the way he came.

With a smile, Hashirama shakes his head. His little brother is adorable, and he’s never been able to understand why people can't see it. Only Kagami, and Hashirama would approve of him just for that.

“We’ll need to get Izuna out as carefully as possible,” he says, turning back to his younger brothers. “Kawarama, once you’ve led Itama to Izuna, see if you can find us a guide.”

Kawarama grins, the bright, happy expression that just about screams his anticipation of mayhem. “I can do that,” he agrees, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He spins like he’s about to leap back into one of the vents and—

Stops.

“Brother,” he says, almost sharp, and that’s a rare enough tone from him that Hashirama turns to follow his suddenly knife-edged stare. He’s looking at the floor where Obito vanished, at the cracks there, and for a moment Hashirama can't figure out why, can only see broken stone and—

Green.

All three of them are perfectly silent as moss creeps up over the edge of the cracks, spreading out like water. Flowers bloom across its expanse, pinpoints of color appearing, and ferns unfurl themselves in a graceful tumble of verdant growth. A tiny sapling rises, branches spreading and leaves following, and Hashirama can _feel_ the brilliance of the little patch of life, determined and unhindered by the lack of sun.

“It’s not mine,” he manages after a moment, unable to tear his eyes away. “I'm not the one causing it.”

Itama lets out a quiet breath, crossing the hall in three quick steps and crouching down to hold his hand over the edge of the moss. “It feels like your magic, though,” he offers.

Hashirama can recognize that, too. Not just _like_ his magic, but so similar that if he hadn’t seen it grow he’d have assumed it was something of his own making, left over from when he lived here before. His power, in the hands of a scarred young man he’s only met once before, who is already strangely connected to whatever ability Madara has developed.

Too many questions, Hashirama thinks grimly, even as he stoops down to let a fern curl around his finger. With a slow, steady breath, he pushes up again, brushing his hair out of his face, and tells Itama, “Get Izuna. Kawarama, find an exit. I get the feeling we’re going to need to leave quickly.”

The two younger vampires trade looks for a long moment before Itama nods. “What are you going to be doing?” he asks.

Hashirama’s smile is painful, wry and sad and regretful. “Madara is somewhere in these halls. I'm going to try and find him.” He thinks of the bruises the consort carried, the way he spat Madara's name, and takes a careful breath. “He needs to learn that even in the name of gaining power, some things can't be borne.”

Another shared look, because Itama and Kawarama have always been impossibly close since the day Hashirama found them in the street, and Itama nods. “Come on, Kawa,” he urges.

“Going, going!” Kawarama protests, but he grabs Itama's hand, tosses Hashirama a cheerful salute, and pulls the other man down the hall at a run.

Hashirama takes a moment to focus, to breathe. Once more his eyes slide down to the patch of green, and it takes effort not to let the thread of anger that rises in his chest slip past his control. It won't help if he loses his temper right now. Not yet, at least.

“Oh, Madara,” he says to the quiet hall, in a place that used to be his home, with proof of Madara's madness growing from the stone at his feet. _Old friend_ , he would have said once, and meant it, but…not anymore. “Just what have you been trying to do here? And what did you do to that boy?”

 

 

Kakashi supposes he should take it as something of a compliment that Minato is so worried about him slipping away that he’s assigned Genma to practically sit on him.

“You know,” he says, because picking at other people is a hell of a lot easier than focusing on the roil of anxiety twisting his stomach into knots, “first you were keeping secrets about sleeping with my teacher. And _now_ you’re keeping secrets about turning into a cat. I'm starting to see a pattern of lies and abuse here.”

Genma rolls his eyes, very pointedly, and pulls his shirt on. “If you don’t lower your voice, everyone in a one-mile radius is going to know exactly where you are,” he says dryly. “And I know _you_ won't mind that, since you're planning to bolt the second I’m distracted, but I'm not above gagging you if it comes down to it.”

Because Kakashi is a mature adult and a fearsome monster hunter, he doesn’t make a face at Genma. Instead, he gives him a long, slow look, dragging from the top of his head to his toes, and says lightly, “Kinky. Is that the kind of thing you do with Minato?”

“Do you really want to know?” Genma asks, as mild as milk, and Kakashi rapidly realizes he’s miscalculated. “Because I could definitely—”

“Lower volume, right,” Kakashi cuts in. “Do you hear something?”

Genma grimaces, eyes flickering to the woods around them as they push back towards the secondary camp. “Too much. There are groups of them moving through the trees. We need to get out.”

It takes effort not to swear, and Kakashi casts a glance back the way they came, wavering faintly. Ūhei and Obito are both _somewhere_ back there, but—

Kakashi’s friends and fellow Hunters are out here, in the darkness, trying to avoid getting _eaten_. He doesn’t have any good choices right now.

“It seems to me that a mountain lion would be the best for taking out the groups,” he says, and when Genma casts him a lazy, pointed look, he raises his hands. “I’ll stay with Minato. Between you and my father, we at least can have warning if they're closing in.”

Unimpressed with his logic, Genma whistles softly, and Minato turns to look at him, then drops back, ducking under a couple of low-hanging branches. “What is it?” he asks, giving Kakashi a slightly wary look.

Kakashi rolls his eyes, but before he can protest his innocence Genma offers, “If you want to babysit I’ll hang back and keep them off our trail.”

“Maa,” Kakashi says, vaguely offended by the term.

Minato chuckles, laying a placating hand on Kakashi’s shoulder, though he doesn’t contest the wording. “All right. Be safe, though. No risks.”

“Only necessary ones,” Genma agrees easily, and before Minato can press him he’s stripping off his clothes again. Pink washes across Minato's face, but he catches the shirt and jeans Genma chucks at him, and a moment later there's a shift of bones and skin before the massive cat leaps up the trunk of a tree and vanishes into the branches. A rustle of leaves, a scrape of bark, and then he’s gone so completely it’s like he was never there at all.

Kakashi takes one look at the flush Minato is wearing, the admiring look, and sighs, put-upon and weary. “Is this a new thing?” he asks, nudging Minato back into movement.

Minato rubs the bridge of his nose, faintly embarrassed. “He was trying to hide it,” he says, and takes one more look after Genma before he determinedly turns around. “He thought we’d kill him if we found out.”

It takes a second for the sheer insanity of that statement to register. “… _What_ ,” Kakashi demands flatly, and makes a mental note to hit Genma over the head as many times as possible next time they spar, in the hopes of rattling _some_ sense loose.

The face Minato makes is all weary, exasperated agreement. “Believe me, we’ve had that discussion. Several times.” The curve of his smile is wry. “Maybe someday it will sink in.”

Before Kakashi can scoff—because Genma is smart and loyal and brave, but he’s also as stubborn as a pig—there's a sharp whistle from ahead of them, and a moment later Kotetsu slithers out of the underbrush.

“Sir,” he says to Minato, and waves his phone. “I got in touch with Jiraiya, but there's a problem.”

An unpleasant curl of foreboding slides down Kakashi’s spine to spread through his stomach, and he can't quite help taking another look over his shoulder, back towards the nest. There's an itch under his skin, urging him to turn around, to go back, because Obito is there, Ūhei is there, and they both need rescuing. They both need to get dragged out, and Kakashi—

Without even glancing at him, Minato grabs his arm and holds him in place. “What kind of problem?”

Kotetsu winces. “Kushina Uzumaki got the Rex to form a pact with her. She and Yahiko just captured a pack of shifters loyal to Madara, and I don’t think they're going to stop there. Jiraiya is tied up containing the fighting.”

For a moment, all Kakashi can think of is the sheer amount of _damage_ that will come with one of the Nine—the _greatest_ of the Nine—and the head of nearly all the shapeshifter packs in the city going to war against Madara's court. But the two names together spark a thought, and he pauses, trying capture it. Something recent. Something—

Obito spinning across the dance floor with Kushina.

Obito with the Rex and his right and left hands, close in a way that spoke of long-time friendship.

Barely more than twenty-four hours after Obito met with both of them, and suddenly the status quo has been upended. That _can't_ be a coincidence.

“Oh,” Kotetsu adds, like he hasn’t just delivered news of a supernatural war starting practically under their noses. “And Aoba called. Like, seventeen times.”

That, of all things, has Minato's eyes widening. “Did he leave a message? Did he mention anything about a feeling?”

With a wince, Kakashi gets it. Aoba's bad feelings aren’t common, but ever since the curse, he gets one and the world always seems to promptly go to hell.

“A bad one,” Kotetsu confirms. “Last message said he’s on his way.”

 _That idiot_ , Kakashi thinks, even though he’d probably do the same thing himself in this situation. He pauses, glancing ahead of them, and then back the way they came. His father and Orochimaru are both out of sight, and he can't see any of the other Hunters either, but—

Easy to brush Minato's hand off his elbow, to avoid the grab his teacher makes as he turns and Kakashi ducks to the side. There’s alarm blooming on Minato's face, something sharp and urgent, but before he can say anything Kakashi raises a hand.

“I know someone who’s connected,” he says, meeting Minato's eyes. “To _everything_ , but I don’t know how. He’s back in the court, and I need to get him out.”

“A shapeshifter?” Minato asks, and even if he’s not giving in immediately at least he’s hesitating. “A feeder? Kakashi, we can't—”

“A vampire,” Kakashi corrects, and Kotetsu makes a startled sound that he quickly cuts off. It makes unhappiness spark in Kakashi’s chest, something grim but determined, and he doesn’t let himself falter even as Minato's brows lift.

“A vampire,” Minato repeats, sounding torn between incredulity and exasperation. “One of Madara's, I assume.”

Kakashi doesn’t dignify that with a response, because _obviously_ , and takes another step back. “I told him I’d get him out,” he says, and Minato doesn’t need to know that Obito refused, that he left of his own volition to go back to Madara. The fact that Madara decided to try and have them all killed means something has changed, and hopefully enough to make Obito see that leaving is his only option.

Minato opens his mouth, but before he can get another word out there's another warning whistle, and Minato turns to catch Izumo as he stumbles out of the trees.

“Sir, Aoba just got here, but as soon as he heard there was fighting in the nest he took off!” the Hunter warns. “There was a man with him—something supernatural, I think—and he went too—”

Kakashi doesn’t wait. He bolts back into the trees, grabs Bull’s collar to steady himself as his foot hits a root and then slides down the slope with his pack a beat after, and there's a shout from behind him but he _can't_ stop. It doesn’t even matter whether he manages to find Aoba in the forest or not—as long as he gets back there, he can find _some_ way into the nest, can slip in and get to Obito and get him _out_ , and it’s a stupid choice but there's no way in hell Kakashi is leaving him there again.

Shiba barks once, scrambling up to his side, and Kakashi doesn’t have anything of Obito's with him, but as simple as that would make it he can do without.

“Good boy,” he says, slows enough to run a hand over Shiba’s mohawk, and then orders, “Find Ūhei.”

Shiba darts ahead, tracing circles with his nose to the ground, and a moment later Pakkun joins him, looking as tired and unimpressed as ever but still putting in the effort. Tense and on edge, Kakashi pauses while they look, glancing back over his shoulder. There's no sign of Minato following, but they're too close to him for comfort, and Kakashi has more than enough respect for his teacher’s skill to know that Minato won't hesitate to knock him out and drag him bodily back to Konoha.

He can't risk it. Not with Obito in danger.

His breath shakes coming out, and Kakashi very determinedly doesn’t think about what Madara could be doing to Obito right now, doesn’t think about Obito getting dragged around like a pet on a chain. There had been fury in his eyes every time Kakashi had looked at him, back in the court, and Kakashi can only hope that that’s a good sign, that Madara doesn’t have him fully no matter what has happened before.

Pakkun growls, just loudly enough to catch Kakashi’s attention, and then takes off through the trees with Shiba right behind him. In an instant all the others are following, and Kakashi brings up the rear, one eye on the darkness around them and the other half of his attention trained ahead. One Hunter alone looks like easy pickings if Genma's right about the groups of vampires and guards in the trees, and Kakashi doesn’t have time for a fight or the attention it will bring.

He tries to think about what he’ll do once he’s gotten back into the nest, but there's no telling what's happening inside, and that leaves him without any sort of plan at all. Just the hope that he can stay unnoticed, track down Obito and his ridiculous dog, and get back out without Madara noticing. Kakashi is a good Hunter, one of the best—that wasn’t just pride when he said it to Obito. But alone against a Master vampire who’s at least two hundred years old? Even Kakashi would be in well over his head, and—

Bull barks once, deep and alarmed, and Kakashi drops on instinct, rolling as something skims past his head. He comes back to his feet with a sword drawn, face-to-face with the twisted, almost reptilian features of a vampire in its monster form. A man with short dark hair, the same coloring as all of Madara's Children, but Kakashi recognizes the deep blue suit, the patterned tie; one of Madara's eldest, the vampire who spent most of the night arguing with one of the Sidhe. Old, and that doesn’t mean much good for Kakashi, but he tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword and doesn’t let himself waver.

“You're going to want to get out of my way,” he warns, and he’s never meant anything more.


	18. One pulse of passion - youth's first fiery glow -

Fugaku bares long, needle-pointed teeth in what’s definitely not a smile. “So the Deathless’s bodyguard was a Hunter all along? Good to know who the traitors are.”

Kakashi smiles, puts humor and warmth and all the friendliness he can muster into it—opponents tend to be unnerved by that kind of thing. “Maa, your own fault for not checking credentials. I never said I was anything supernatural.”

“Madara won't fall, no matter what petty plots you're spinning.” Fugaku's eyes slide to red and black, bloody in the darkness, but Kakashi’s had more than enough experience to know to drop his gaze. He looks at the center of Fugaku's chest instead, and even if vampires are faster than humans they still use their muscles just like anyone else.

“Madara deserves a stake in the heart,” Kakashi says lightly, though the words _burn_ in his mouth. “At the very least.”

Fugaku scoffs. “Why? Because he fails to act like _prey_ the way you—”

“For everything he’s done to someone under his control,” Kakashi says before he can stop himself, low and sharp. “For being the scum of the earth and forcing O—” He breaks off, but the words are close to the surface, want to come out so badly it physically hurts.

There's a long moment of suspicious silence, and then Fugaku makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. “This is about _Obito_?” he asks, like it’s something ludicrous and he’s waiting for Kakashi to correct him. When Kakashi stays silent, unmoving, dark eyes widen, and Fugaku takes a step back. “It _is_. You put yourself in the middle of a vampire court for _him_?”

It takes effort for Kakashi not to bristle. “And I'm going to do it again, so if you could get out of the way that would be lovely,” he jokes, and only long practice keeps the humor in the words.

To his surprise, Fugaku laughs. “So someone finally figured it out. I was wondering how long it would take. Though Obito himself makes the greatest deflection, doesn’t he? No one would suspect him of such things, skulking around court like a kicked dog the way he always does.”

There's rage rising, heavy and hot, sharp like metal on Kakashi’s tongue. He swallows it down, knows his smile has gone thin and threatening but doesn’t care to change it. “Kicked dogs are liable to turn around and take your whole leg off,” he points out.

But something in his tone makes Fugaku look at him again, eyes narrowing. “You know,” he says again, though this time he sounds less certain. “Madara's plans—” A pause, and then he huffs a laugh as realization strikes. “You don’t have any clue, do you? Sixty years, and the Hunters still haven’t realized Madara's greatest weapon is so very, very close.”

“You mean fifty years?” Kakashi tips his head, watching the vampire closely, but there's nothing but arrogant amusement on Fugaku's face. Not a mistake, then.

“I meant what I said,” Fugaku retorts. “Almost a century of planning, and if you think to undo that by killing Madara's consort—”

There's a rush of wings in the darkness.

Kakashi throws himself backwards, dragging Urushi with him, just as a hair-thin wire whips out of the shadows, following the swift-moving form of a black bird, and the leaf-shaped blade on the end slices across Fugaku's chest as he recoils right into the weapon’s curve. It pulls tight, wound fully around him, and Fugaku yelps and takes an entirely undignified tumble right onto his face. A moment later, a heavy motorcycle boot lands in the center of his back, pinning him down, and the huge man Kakashi saw leaving the nest with Obito just a handful of days ago lays the blade of his equally large sword against Fugaku's neck.

“Hey there,” the man says cheerfully, though there's an unsettling number of sharp teeth visible in his grin. “You're looking pretty fancy to be wandering through the woods, you know? Might run into some unsavory characters.”

“Hoshigaki,” Fugaku spits, twisting against the wire, but Kakashi has seen minor gods who couldn’t break the enchantments Rin put on Aoba's weapon. A vampire Fugaku's age doesn’t have a chance. “Another traitor? How predictable.”

“Kisame—” Aoba starts worriedly, stepping out from behind the tree.

Before he can add anything, Kisame chuckles, but his expression might as well be the edge of a knife for all the threat in it. “A lot of people have been throwing that word around, and I'm not really fond of it. I'm perfectly loyal, Uchiha. Just not to who you thought I was.”

Almost, _almost_ Kakashi is tempted to open his mouth and tell him that that’s pretty much the exact definition of a traitor, but an exasperated look from Aoba stops him. He throws his best innocent look back, and Aoba rolls his eyes, clearly visible with his glasses pushed up into his hair.

“Are you out here alone?” he asks Kakashi, and the lines of worry around his eyes are all too clear, even in the shadows. He must catch Kakashi opening his mouth, because he adds, “The dogs don’t count. You always tell me my crows don’t count, so don’t even try to play that card.”

A little miffed, Kakashi flips his sword over, letting it spin around his hand in a pointed show of dexterity. “My dogs can at least take down a vampire,” he retorts.

Predictably, Aoba bristles. “My crows can, too! We took down a three hundred year old vampire lady just yesterday!”

“I thought she was just temporarily frozen?” Kisame asks, chuckling, though he hasn’t moved from where he’s pinning Fugaku to the dirt.

“Semantics,” Aoba dismisses with a sniff. “She was taken out of play, just as planned. I’d like to see this pack of mutts do the same.”

On his shoulder, the small, kind of ratty-looking crow he’s so fond of cackles in eerie approximation of a laugh.

Kakashi gives the thing a wary look, then pointedly puts a hand on Guruko’s head as the dog presses up against his leg. “ _They_ don’t need to resort to magic to be useful.”

“You say that like they can even _do_ magic! My crows—”

“Dogs are clearly superior—”

“Just because you can't—”

“Admit it—”

“I think,” Kisame says, a little more loudly than is strictly necessary, “that you know why I'm here, Uchiha.”

Turning his head enough to glare up at the man, Fugaku makes a sound of contained fury. “And I think you know why I won't help you, Hoshigaki.”

“That’s the thing,” Kisame tells him cheerfully. “I'm not going to let you say no. Madara likes you, so I'm sure you know how he keeps tabs on Obito all the time.”

Kakashi blinks, pulled out of his glaring match with Aoba by the name. “Obito?” he asks, turning to face the big man. “You're here for Obito?”

Surprise flickers across Kisame's face, and he and Aoba share a look before he glances back at Kakashi. “You sound like you know him, too,” he says, and even though his grin hasn’t wavered there's something like suspicion sliding in to fill it. “How’d a Hunter meet a vampire?”

“Saving him from getting eaten,” Kakashi answers dryly, watches the alarm that rises, and feels marginally better about the world in general, that Obito clearly has someone who cares about his welfare in contrast to the bullshit Fugaku was spilling. “I was just about to go back in and drag him out when Fugaku here started telling me _all sorts_ of interesting things about Obito and Madara.”

Suspicion slides into grim certainty, and with a chuckle Kisame leans forward, putting a bit more weight on Fugaku as the vampire grunts uncomfortably. “Ah, you always did act kind of nasty to him, didn’t you?” he says cheerfully, and his sword doesn’t shift closer but he turns it ever so slightly, like he’s considering laying the edge of the blade against Fugaku's neck instead of the flat. “Well?”

Fugaku spits at his boot. “Like I would tell you _anything_.”

Kisame doesn’t lose his smile, though it does gain a few extra teeth. “See, the way I see it right now, you have three choices. You can tell me how Madara's keeping an eye on Obito all the time, or you can tell this nice man about Madara's plans, or I can start cutting limbs off until you tell us anyway.” He chuckles, like this is fun and games and a good time for all of them. “You know me, I’m pretty easygoing, so I don’t have a preference. Up to you.”

This is probably the point where a normal person would step in and shut down the threats of torture, but Kakashi can't even bring himself to move. Aoba doesn’t look perturbed, either, watching Kisame evenly as his crow pulls at his hair. Though maybe Aoba isn’t the best yardstick to measure morality with, either—they’ve both been Hunters for most of their lives, and despite appearances Aoba is one of the most vicious bastards Kakashi knows, not above doing practically anything to get results.

There's a long pause. Fugaku's eyes flicker from Aoba to Kakashi, then up to Kisame, and whatever he’s looking for he doesn’t find in their faces. With a low groan, he turns his head away, pressing his forehead to the ground, and says, “Mikoto was right. This is all going to end in disaster.”

“Mikoto?” Kisame says, startled. “She deserted.”

“She came back.” It’s almost a complaint. “And she made her entrance by trying to kill the Deathless. Kurama’s vessel broke her out, but she had Obito's help in doing it.”

Which would be why Madara revoked his hospitality so violently, Kakashi thinks. One of his prisoners escaping on the night he’d hosted a full gathering would definitely be enough to make him paranoid. But if he thinks Obito had something to do with it—

It takes effort to hold his ground, to not go bolting off towards the nest as fear crawls up through his chest. Gods, Obito is in there alone, with Madara, and Kakashi doesn’t even want to imagine what's happening to him.

“But you talked to Mikoto, even though she was technically a traitor,” Aoba says, always quick at putting together the pieces of what people are trying not to say. “You knew she was there, and you talked, and you tried to sell her on whatever plan Madara's cooking up.”

“She’s my _friend_ ,” Fugaku hisses. “Of course I would try to warn her that Madara was—” He cuts himself off sharply.

“Was?” Kisame prompts, and leans a little more weight on him in clear threat.

Fugaku very visibly unclenches his teeth. “Was going to wipe out the Senju,” he admits grudgingly. “And anyone in Konoha who wouldn’t swear allegiance to him.”

Mass slaughter, Kakashi thinks, almost dispassionately, though it comes with a chill that settles in his bones. That certainly sounds like a Madara sort of solution.

His nails are digging into his palm again, but he doesn’t bother to unclench his fist.

“And Obito has something to do with this,” he says, and it comes out flat and cool, makes Aoba turn and look at him sharply.

“He has _everything_ to do with this,” Fugaku corrects, and now he just sounds tired, not even bothering to look up at them. “Sixty years ago Madara started watching him. I don’t know what drew his attention, but when he decided to turn him, he immediately set things into motion. Obito was an experiment, but it didn’t work as Madara hoped. He was looking for a cure, and what he got instead was a weapon. Not that he’s minded.”

A weapon. It’s the second time Fugaku has called Obito that, but…Kakashi hasn’t seen anything to support the claim. Obito almost got killed by a vampire who couldn’t have been more than seventy years old. Maybe he was drained, but there were no special abilities, no hidden powers that came to light. If anything, Kakashi would have said Obito was at the lower end of utterly average for a vampire.

Not just a weapon, but _Madara's_ _greatest_. The words send a shiver down Kakashi’s spine for no reason he can quite pinpoint.

“A cure,” Aoba repeats. “A cure for what? Boredom?”

That gets him glares from both Kakashi and Kisame, even if he doesn’t seem to notice. Fugaku snorts, though, and his tone is vaguely amused as he answers, “I don’t know. He’s never actually _told_ me anything.” A haughty huff, and he adds, “I’m observant enough to put the pieces together, even if no one else is.”

Well. There goes hoping they captured one of Madara's co-conspirators, or even one of his generals. Kakashi grimaces, and—

Kisame staggers. He trips over air, stumbles back to catch himself on a tree, and clings to it as if the ground has turned to liquid under his feet. His eyes are wide, darting around them like he can't see anything, and in the same moment Fugaku vanishes completely.

“Glamour! He’s still there!” Aoba warns, even as he leaps back, and Kakashi grabs for a knife, wishes futilely for cold iron even as he steps in front of the other Hunter.

A ripple in the air, smooth like moonlight or water, and then a man is suddenly there, hauling Fugaku to his feet with a hand on his arm. There's a crown of bare branches on his head, twisted and jagged, and his robes are black instead of Seelie white. The Unseelie king, Kakashi realizes with a flash of trepidation, and he tightens his grip on his knife, ready to throw himself in headlong even if he has very, very little chance of beating one of the Lords of Fairy.

Hizashi casts them a look, cool and assessing, and catches Fugaku when he staggers. “Excuse me, Hunters,” he says. “I'm sure whatever you were about to do, this bastard deserves it, but—” He entirely ignores Fugaku's spluttering protest “—my brother will sulk if he’s injured, and I’d like to spare myself that.”

There's a caw, and one of Aoba's crows settles on the branch right above Hizashi, eyeing him like it’s sizing the Sidhe up for a fight. Aoba doesn’t look all that much more reasonable as he steps up to right behind Kakashi, though he doesn’t try to push past.

“Does this mean you're siding with Madara?” he asks, and hells, but that’s un unpleasant thought. Kakashi grits his teeth, restraining the urge to kick him for it, but before he can say anything Hizashi snorts.

“The Courts keep their own sides,” he says haughtily, then hesitates. A faintly rueful smile curves his mouth, and he inclines his head to Kakashi just a little. “Though given that the Deathless allies himself with you, I would say that I'm against Madara far more than for him.”

That’s a relief, at least. Still, Kakashi can't quite make himself let go of his weapon. “We still need answers,” he says evenly, and meets Fugaku's glare with his own narrow look. “If Madara is going to wipe out an entire vampire clan and try to take over the city—”

There's a long, dragging pause before Hizashi sighs, just a little. “I don’t know why my brother even bothers with you,” he tells Fugaku, and when the vampire puffs up in offense Hizashi just flicks a hand, and with a yelp Fugaku drops into a hole that opens up right beneath his feet. It closes over his head, and Hizashi steps right over it to look at Kakashi.

“Hashirama Senju was once the child of an earth spirit and a human,” he says, and the weight of his gaze adds intent to his words. “Madara was the descendant of one of my brother’s court, lost to the human world.” Another pause, and this time Hizashi’s smile is rueful. “They choose their Children very differently. Hashirama picks family. Madara picks those who will make him strong.” He turns away, moonlight catching on the bare white wood of his crown and making it look like carven bone, and casts one last glance at Aoba as he steps back into the trees. “Once upon a time, witch-child, my kind would have plucked out your eyes for seeing as you do. Something to keep in mind.”

There's a low snarl, full of rage, but before Kisame can so much as shift forward the Unseelie King is gone, wrapping himself in shadows and mist to vanish without a trace.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aoba breathes, and takes a stumbling step back. His crows swoop down to flutter around him, and Kisame catches his elbow a moment later, holding him upright. “Okay, new rule. I don’t interact with the Sidhe _ever again_ , and if anyone tries to make me I'm going to pretend that I'm actually blind.”

Kisame makes a low, unhappy sound that could almost pass as a chuckle. “The Sidhe might take offense if you lie, but avoiding them seems like a good idea.”

Letting out a careful breath, Kakashi forces the tension out of his muscles, allows himself to relax just a little with the immediate threat gone. And—

“My stepparent chose to have a _child_ with him,” he says, trying to wrap his head around that fact.

Aoba makes a noise of wry amusement. “Different strokes for different folks,” he says. “Though they both have that _I’ll eat you alive but I'm so sexy you’ll like it_ thing going on, so I mean, it’s not _that_ —uh. Please stop giving me that look.”

Kakashi groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Please don’t make me regret having slept with you.” He ignores Aoba's squawk of offense in favor of glaring at the patch of ground where Fugaku disappeared, along with all the answers they need. Hizashi’s cryptic talk about choosing Children is _not_ helpful, in the scheme of things.

“So,” Aoba says finally, recoiling his wire, and Kakashi can feel his stare even without turning to look. “Obito, huh?”

That gets him Kisame's attention as well, edged with knife-blade sharpness. Kakashi remembers the way the big man treated Obito, the day he dropped him off in Konoha, the way he touched the bite on Obito's neck and looked concerned. It had been too risky to get close enough to overhear what they said, but Obito hadn’t been any shade of angry when he spoke to Kisame. Almost fond, if anything, and while Kakashi can't say much for Obito's self-preservation instincts regarding people—he did follow a Hunter home despite being a vampire, and Kakashi thinks about what could have happened if he were practically anyone else, if anything had changed, and feels cold—he trusts Aoba's a hell of a lot. The fact that Aoba hasn’t already taken Kisame out makes Kakashi willing to give him a chance.

Not that he’s going to make it easy for him.

“Yes?” he asks guilelessly, offering up his best bullshit smile.

Aoba rolls his eyes, not fooled for a second. That’s one of the problems with having known each other since childhood. “I notice you didn’t agree that you were here to stake him, no matter how valuable he is to Madara.” Kisame makes an unhappy noise, but Aoba just waves him off, as if the man isn’t big enough to break him in two with a bit of effort and a sneeze. “So? Talk.”

Kakashi hesitates. _I slept with him_ doesn’t seem like anywhere close to enough, and _he matters to me_ is far too emotional for him to say without actually getting hives. _I saved his life_ is a possibility, but Obito had also saved Ūhei, and it feels like that erases any implied debt.

“Oh,” Aoba says, eyes wide as he stares at Kakashi. “Oh, _fuck_. Really? Madara's _consort_? Stars and standing stones, Hatake, _what the hell_. That’s the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever done, and that’s saying something.”

Damn it. Sometimes Kakashi really hates those eyes of his.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he says airily, sliding his knife away and stepping past the other Hunter. Kisame is looking between them, faintly confused, but Kakashi isn’t about to stop and explain. “I need to get Obito out. Are you coming?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aoba says again, but he falls into step behind Kakashi, offering up a short whistle that sends his crows swooping back into the air. “Next time you accuse me of having bad judgement, I'm rubbing this in your face, just so we’re clear.”

“You _do_ have bad judgement,” Kakashi retorts. “You slept with one of the Nine.”

“In my defense, Utakata is _really_ gorgeous,” Aoba says, raising his hands. “And Gai thought we looked pretty together. Who was I to say no?”

Kakashi gives him the look that deserves, and Aoba makes a face in response before glancing over at Kisame. “Don’t believe the slander,” he says imperiously. “Kakashi’s an ass.”

Kisame chuckles quietly. “So you didn’t have a threesome?” he asks in amusement.

“Eh. More a twosome with supervision.” Aoba waves a hand. “It’s a thing. A _fun_ thing. Gai and I—”

From up ahead, there's a caw, loud and deep, and Aoba freezes, eyes narrowing. He flashes Kakashi a hand sign, then ducks forward, disappearing into the underbrush in a moment. For a second, Kakashi debates following, regardless of what he was told to do, but then grits his teeth and stands still. Aoba's better at stealth and infiltration, and given how dark it is under the trees, he’s their best scout right now. As much as Kakashi wants to bolt forward, to hurry back to the nest, it’s not worth getting killed by a danger Aoba would have been able to spot, given the chance.

With that in mind, he catches Kisame's elbow when he makes to follow, tugging him back even as he raises his sword. Kisame doesn’t even look at him, just goes perfectly still as the seconds stretch out into minutes. There's no sound, and when Shiba whines almost inaudibly Kakashi reaches down to rub his ears in comfort. With Hizashi’s quasi-threat so close, it’s harder, but—

There's a cry, short and choked and high with pain, and in an instant Kisame is gone, plunging forward into the trees. Kakashi is barely a second behind him, Bull beside him and his own sword in hand. Feathers brush his face, a near enough miss to make him jerk to the side and stumble, and far too close to his ear a crow shrieks. It divebombs him again, and this time Kakashi catches claws across his cheek, dives to the side and rolls, and a fraction of a second later _something_ splits the air right where he was. It raises every hair on Kakashi’s arms, and he comes back to his feet with a twist and a curse, ducking a second bolt.

The tree behind him splinters, trunk caving in, and falls with a thunderous, groaning creak.

 _Fuck_ , Kakashi thinks, but doesn’t even try to cast a look behind him. Instead, his eyes are on the petite redhead standing with one hand still raised, glowing with blue-white light even to his eyes. He can recall her standing with the Senju yesterday, but not hearing her introduce herself, and he has to wonder now if that was calculated. Madara certainly didn’t seem to notice her, but a sorceress that strong shouldn’t have gone unremarked.

As the tree settles with a rustle of raining leaves, a laugh breaks the silence from deeper in the darkness. “You two again?” a woman asks, halfway to mocking. “You, cute thing, actually managed to surprise me. That doesn’t happen often. It’s too bad I had to return the favor this time.”

There's a quiet, pained sound from Aoba, and Kakashi grits his teeth, watching the sorceress carefully. She’s just staring at him, steady and faintly amused, but the magic is still crackling like lightning around her and Kakashi doesn’t have anything that will block it. All of the charms he normally carries are with his old clothes, and he melted his good sword in a fight against a manticore last month. The sorceress also doesn’t look like she’s going to be anywhere near as easy to subdue as Fugaku.

“Mito?” the other woman calls, vaguely impatient.

“I have the other one,” Mito says, just loud enough to carry. “Are you done playing yet, Tōka?”

A laugh, and Tōka offers, “Bird boy, how’d you like to be part of the family?”

“I think you need to let him go,” Kisame says, light enough that it could almost be taken for a joke. “Pale’s not really his color.”

“Give him a few years and I think it could be,” Tōka retorts. “Awake, cutie?”

Aoba's answer is a high, sharp whistle. There's a crow’s furious shriek, and the woman yelps. Mito half-turns, head snapping around even though her hand doesn’t waver from Kakashi’s direction. Still, it’s opening enough, and Kakashi leaps forward, ducks under another bolt of pure magic that slices into the ground, and flips his sword from one hand to the other before sweeping it around in a fast slash. Mito dodges back, human-fast instead of a vampire’s blurring speed, deflects an attempted stab off a burst of silver light and sweeps in, a lance of magic slicing across Kakashi’s ribs as he throws himself out of the way. He stumbles with a hiss, tries to get his balance back—

Darkness ripples, shivers, and a shape tumbles out of thin air.  


	19. Are worth the hoarded proverbs of the sage:

For an instant, Kakashi can't make sense of the image. He catches a glimpse of red cloth or red fur, pale skin, too many limbs, and—

Ūhei barks once, twists in midair, and manages to land on his feet. Obito hits the ground hard, boneless and still enough to kick Kakashi’s heart into triple-time, rolls twice, and comes to a stop almost under Kakashi’s as he twists to avoid stepping on him. No sparks, none of the flashy light Kakashi usually associates with magic, but _something_ ripples across his senses, makes his skin prickle in a rush, and he sucks in a hard breath, feels the earth _shift_ under his feet with a sudden, lurching force. Obito makes a breathless, aching sound, back twisting, and his eyes fly open, wide and unseeing.

A wash of green covers the world.

Kakashi has just enough time to see Mito's poise dissolve into an expression of pure shock before an explosion of growth sends her flying back. He drops, grabbing for Ūhei, for Obito, and nothing in him actually expects to make it, but—

A massive oak bends out of his way, doesn’t stop sliding skyward but shifts its roots an entire foot to the right, and Kakashi tumbles through the gap, grabbing Obito and dragging him up and into his arms. Ūhei shoves under his elbow, and Kakashi catches a hint of a limp but doesn’t have time to check him. Obito is jerking in his grip, not trying to get away but something unconscious, injured. There are dark bruises ringing his throat, blood from a fresh headwound sliding down the side of his face, and an almost desperate noise tears itself from Kakashi’s throat. He wraps his arms around Obito, burying his face in dark hair.

“I've got you,” he whispers. “I've got you, Obito, I’ll get you somewhere safe, don’t worry. You’re fine, Ūhei is fine, I'm going to get you out of here—”

“Time to go!” Aoba darts around a tree as it surges from the ground, already as wide as Kakashi is tall and getting larger. He staggers a step, almost gets beaned in the face by a grape vine as it leaps for the trees, and recoils with a yelp only to have Kisame snatch him up with one hand and throw him over his shoulder. Nothing grabs for Kisame, but it doesn’t get out of his way, either, and he stumbles around a patch of moss that’s spreading outward like a river in flood.

“You got him,” he says, eyes snapping to Obito instantly.

Kakashi nods, gathers his feet under himself and staggers upright, trying to get his arms around Obito securely. Obito's on the verge of too thin, but he’s still nearly as tall as Kakashi and a good bit broader, and Kakashi thinks a little wistfully about his father’s supernatural strength as he heaves Obito's deadweight into a slightly more convenient position.

“Something’s wrong with him,” he tells Kisame, because there are no fresh bites he can see through Obito's torn shirt, no severe wounds that even slow vampire healing wouldn’t allow Obito to shrug off. Obito is still unconscious, though, and his breathing is quick and shallow.

“You _think_?” Aoba says, and kicks Kisame in the thigh. “We are about to get _eaten_ and I for one don’t want to become an extra in _Venus Flytrap: A Horror Story_ so if we could _move—_ ”

Kakashi whistles for his dogs, counts heads as they stream through the gaps in the trees, and takes off at his fastest stumble, heading for where he left his car. Hopefully, if the Hunters are in retreat, no one will be waiting. Kakashi isn’t entirely certain what he’d do if someone tried to take Obito right now, or kill him, but he’s entirely certain that whoever attempted it would need a hospital at best and a body bag at worst.

“We need to get somewhere with wards,” Aoba says, pushing up on Kisame's shoulder and fishing a handful of throwing knives out of his pack. He takes aim at something only he can see through the trees and lets fly, and there's a sharp cry from behind them. Obligingly, Kakashi picks up his pace, half-sliding down a steep hill that he vaguely remembers following Genma and Minato over.

“Somewhere without a lot of Hunters,” Kakashi says, remembering Minato's reluctance to help even before he knew Kakashi’s vampire connection was actually Madara's consort.

“Without vampires might be better, too.” Kisame chuckles a little, though it doesn’t sound overly happy. “Vampire lady is a Senju, and the Uzumaki’s their pet sorceress. She’s the daughter of the Enchantress.”

Kakashi swallows. The woman he just squared off with might as well have been the princess of all magic-users in Fire Country. No wonder she was able to level a tree as easily as breathing.

“I think _pet_ might be the wrong term here,” he says, keeping his tone light, but he can't imagine the Enchantress’s daughter doing anything but precisely what she wants to.

Kisame's grin is entirely agreement. “Means we probably shouldn’t go to a witch, either.”

Damn. That takes Rin out of the running, and she was going to be Kakashi’s first choice. There's no way she would ever betray them, but if Mito decides to check in with some of the more powerful casters in the area, Rin will be one of the first she goes to, and Kakashi doesn’t want her ending up in that position.

Then he pauses, because there's no such thing as a coincidence. “Uzumaki,” he repeats, and it’s not _proof_ , because there are Uzumaki scattered everywhere and nearly all of them are bewilderingly powerful magic-users, but still. “Mito Uzumaki. Any relation to Kushina Uzumaki, who just got the Rex to start a rebellion against Madara?”

Kisame trips, almost drops Aoba as the Hunter squawks and flails. “ _Rebellion_?” Kisame demands, his head snapping around.

Kakashi catches a glimpse of his jeep at the foot of the hill, a street bike parked beside it, and changes direction to head for it. “She and the Rex took out a shifter pack loyal to Madara, and our commander said the fighting was spreading.”

With a chuckle, Kisame dumps Aoba on his feet, grabs his wrist as he staggers, and hauls him over to the bike. “Yahiko found his balls, then. Or Konan and Nagato did it for him. I'm glad. But it means we can't go to them, either.”

“I think you two are missing the obvious solution here,” Aoba says, even as he slides on behind Kisame, then turns and lightly tosses a knife into the trees. There's a ripple of magic that floods the air, and Pakkun starts sneezing explosively. Kakashi just rolls his eyes, getting the passenger side door open and carefully settling Obito on the seat before he scoops the pug up and puts him on the dashboard. Aoba _adores_ magic, even though he’d never cop to it directly. Together, he and Rin have a tendency to experiment with just what can and can't be enchanted, and as far as Kakashi knows, the _can't_ list is currently about three items, all of which are only there because they have a tendency to explode in unfavorable ways.

With a whine, Ūhei paws at his leg, turning wide, pleading brown eyes on Kakashi, and he sighs, then picks the basenji up and settles him on the floor at Obito's feet. “No jumping around until I can check you over,” he warns pointedly, and Ūhei huffs happily and drops his head on Obito's knee. It’s not like Kakashi can protest the attachment, not when Ūhei was willing to bolt into the middle of a vampire nest to save Obito, so he lets them be, ducking back around to the other side to pull the seat forward for the rest of the pack. It’s an even tighter fit than before, but it will have to do.

Maybe Minato had a point about getting a bigger car.

“Obvious solution?” he prompts, heaving Bull up the last few inches so he can clamber in.

“Oh, are you done fussing and ready to listen?” Aoba says in mock surprise. When Kakashi shoots him a look, he ignores it, busy zipping all three of his crows inside his jacket. One looks vaguely peeved about it, but the other two just tuck their heads in without a care, and Kakashi will never admit to being mildly impressed with how thoroughly Aoba trains them, that motorcycle rides are apparently just fine with them. “Yeah, my place is warded so heavily most people with bad intentions can't even _see_ it. And you know Gai won't mind you crashing there.”

Gai won't, not in the least, but he _will_ be utterly overbearing and entirely overjoyed that Kakashi has _found someone_ , and for a moment Kakashi almost considers just picking a random safehouse rather than dealing with all the excessive _emotion_.

“ _Kakashi_ ,” Aoba says in exasperation, because clearly he knows Kakashi far too well.

“…Fine,” Kakashi allows at length. “Your place. Let’s go.”

Aoba gives him a mocking salute, then orders, “Head out first. I’ll drop another of those charms to cover our tracks on our way out. And if you go somewhere else to avoid Gai, I _will_ find you.”

The pissy crow sticks her head out of the top of the zipper and caws accusingly, glaring death at Kakashi, and it takes a vast amount of effort to ignore her and get into the car as regally as possible.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Kakashi tells Aoba. “I would never do that.” Then, pointedly, he starts the engine just in time to drown out Aoba's scoff.

Kisame is laughing as Kakashi pulls away, and Kakashi is pretty sure that at least one of the crows is, too.

 

 

“Madara is a _hack_ ,” Itama mutters, glaring at the seals carved into the side of the casket.

Kawarama can't help but laugh, because Itama is sweet and quiet right up until someone makes a stupid mistake with magic, and then he’d put Tobirama to shame for holding petty grudges. “Do you really think he did those himself?” he asks idly, swinging his feet just hard enough to bounce his boots off Madara's fancy cabinet. Scuff marks are a mild form of revenge, all things considered, but they’ll totally drive Madara nuts. And since this is a secret room, Kawarama gets to amuse himself with the image of Madara going at them himself, scrubbing furiously with a cloth and some furniture polish.

(He’s never been above pettiness, either. It’s probably a family thing, and definitely from Tōka. Even Hashirama has it, though he’s better about hiding it than the rest of them.)

Itama makes a noise like a grumpy cat. “Do _you_ really think Madara would trust anyone else to put seals on his little brother’s resting place?” he asks. “Even if it would have been better, because these are _degrading_ , what a _shock_. It’s almost like an amateur laid them or something.”

Kawarama laughs, because Itama in a fit of pique is the best thing ever, at least when it’s not directed at him. “Can you get it open?”

“I think so?” Itama frowns at the inlayed metal, tracing his fingers over the curves of one of the marks. “It might take me a little while, though.”

Which in Itama-speak means it’s borderline impossible and would make anyone else cry just thinking about it, Kawarama thinks fondly, pushing off the top of the cabinet and dropping lightly to the floor. “All right,” he says cheerfully. “I’m going to go find someone who knows their way around, then. Yell if you need me.”

“Keep your crystal out,” Itama reminds him absently, not even looking up. “If Hashirama can't hold Madara off we might need to leave quickly.”

“I will, I will!” Kawarama pulls the necklace out from under his shirt, checks that it’s not cracked, and then eels up through the trapdoor and out from under Madara's bed. He feels a little like he should make a joke about that, even just to himself, but—

He saw the way Madara dragged his consort around in court, the way Obito flinched when Hashirama went to touch him, and just tries not to think about what’s probably happened in here. It makes him sick, a little, because Kawarama _remembers_ Madara from before, used to hang off his shoulders when he was newly turned and sneak into his room to scare him and get chased through the halls for his troubles, and what Madara's turned into ever since Tobirama and Izuna's fight—

Well. It’s enough to make even Hashirama want to stake him, and that takes some doing.

Listening for footsteps, Kawarama pauses in the doorway giving himself a count of ten before he slips out of Madara's room. The corridor is empty, most of the people in the nest occupied on the far side, chasing the fleeing guests, so Kawarama doesn’t bother climbing back into the vents. They're more spacious than most, given that the whole court is underground, but they're also incredibly dusty. Clearly Madara hasn’t been taking care of the place nearly as well as Hashirama did.

Grinning a little at the image of Madara with a feather duster trying to clear the vents—unrealistic, maybe, but _hilarious_ —Kawarama ghosts down another hall, towards the main library. Madara can't have sent everyone after a handful of guests, so odds are good that he’ll find people who aren’t primarily fighters on this side of the court. Easier to browbeat a vampire without a lot of experience, he thinks cheerfully, pausing at the sound of voices. Too many in one place, though, and Kawarama _could_ just jump them and knock out all but one, but Tobirama and Itama like to go for tag-team lectures when he does stuff he calls _fun_ and they call _taking unnecessary and entirely avoidable risks_ , and really, Kawarama would rather kiss a ghoul than have to sit through yet another of those.

Regretfully, he lets the group pass, then slips out of the alcove, pats the ugly bust on the shoulder in thanks for hiding him, and keeps going, listening for any hint of a person alone. Preferably a vampire, since shapeshifters can be tricky to deal with when they're trying to get away. Not the vampires can't, too, and Madara's consort showed that all too clearly.

Kawarama frowns a little, pausing to stare at a blank section of wall. He’s not entirely sure the consort should count, given how he somehow ended up with Hashirama’s ability. He _shouldn’t_ have, because just taking another vampire’s blood isn’t enough to transfer magic, not without a lot of help, and he barely got a mouthful. _And_ he clearly already has some sort of ability of his own that Madara is leeching off of, to be able to teleport the way he does.

It’s a mystery, and while Kawarama is fond of those, he likes them a bit less when his family’s safety is on the line.

Rapid steps around the corner, alone and approaching quickly, make him lift his head, and he ducks back, sliding into the shadow of a stone column. A breath and he goes entirely still, head cocked as he listens closely, hand an inch from his knife. It’s easy to kill, but capturing takes a bit more skill and planning, and if Kawarama leaves too many bodies Hashirama will give him that Disappointed Face again. Better to avoid that if at all possible, so Kawarama consciously shifts his hands away from any weapons, calculates the best approach based on the person’s speed, and tries to figure out if it’s a vampire or something else by the stride.

Vampire, he thinks idly, because shapeshifters are more graceful, and humans—even humans with magic—are a lot slower. Good news for him, and hopefully it’s not an extremely new Child, because he needs someone who knows all the back entrances and exits, preferably some of the secret passages Madara's altered or added since he took over.

There's an aggrieved sound, a stumble, and a clatter. The vampire groans, exasperated, and mutters, “Why can't that bastard bring his _own_ magic texts? Why do _I_ have to cart these around every time Madara wants Danzō here?”

Danzō. Not a name Kawarama is familiar with, but clearly important, if Madara's having one of his Children prepare for Danzō’s visit. He files it away for questioning later, then judges distances, twists around, and kicks off the wall hard, flipping up and over the man in the hall to land on his far side. The vampire jerks and spins, but Kawarama is already moving, ducking low to sweep his feet from under him and then twisting up and forward, slamming into his back. The man goes down with a yelp, landing hard on his front with Kawarama straddling his back. In an instant, Kawarama has his hands twisted up behind him, and he rides out the squirming with a laugh. Not a vampire he’s seen before—physically a little older than him, with black hair in a short ponytail and a string of golden charms hanging off the shoulder of his shirt—but definitely one of Madara's by the coloring.

“Hey, hey!” he says cheerfully, and the other vampire probably outweighs him but Kawarama has spent the last two hundred years wrestling _Hashirama_ , and even beyond that he was turned when he was seventeen. _Everyone_ outweighs him, pretty much, and right now he has the added advantage of leverage on top of the surprise. “None of that, okay? If you're too much trouble I'm going to have to kill you and find someone easier.”

The Uchiha stiffens, turning his head enough to glare back at Kawarama with one red-black eye, but Kawarama’s older and not about to get trapped by a trick like that. He grins at the man, follows the realization that flashes across his face as he recognizes that Kawarama is a Senju, and doesn’t let go even when the man swallows and goes still.

“There we go,” Kawarama says, and at least doesn’t increase the pressure holding the Uchiha down. “So what's your name? I'm Kawarama.”

The Uchiha hesitates, but then swallows. “Hikaku,” he says. “You're one of the Senju.”

“That’s me,” Kawarama agrees. Hikaku doesn’t seem to be fighting, or about to bolt, so he slides off his back and uses his grip on the other vampire’s wrists to haul him to his feet. “So what are the chances you know that Madara's planning to wipe out my whole clan?”

Hikaku’s face leeches of color, his eyes going wide as he jerks in Kawarama’s hold. “ _What_? Madara isn’t—he _wouldn’t_ —a war on that level would bring all of the Hunters down on us! No one would survive!”

Such faith, Kawarama thinks, vaguely amused. Though, he supposes, no one would want to believe that their Sire was actually insane. “Well, in his defense I think Madara assumes he’ll be powerful enough to wipe the Hunters out, too,” he offers.

“You're _lying_ ,” Hikaku hisses, struggling against his hold.

“I don’t have any reason to.” Kawarama tips one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “But you’re cute, and I’d rather not have to carve up your face to get you to show me the backdoors to this place, so I thought I’d say something and give you a chance to help us stop him.”

Hikaku swallows, turning his head to look back at Kawarama, and Kawarama can see the indecision warring on his face. Almost, he thinks.

“You believe Madara would do it,” he says gently, and it’s Itama's tone, convincing someone of something they already halfway believe but don’t want to accept. “You know he hasn’t been stable since Izuna was sealed.”

With a groan, Hikaku drops his head. “You're an _enemy_ ,” he says, but it’s halfhearted at best.

“An enemy with a _point_ ,” Kawarama points out, maybe slightly too happily, and he lets Hikaku go. “And a plan! As long as you can help me move a body out of the court without being seen.”

Hikaku turns to stare at him flatly for a long moment, then groans, rubbing his forehead. “Why do I get the feeling that this isn’t the first time you’ve needed help moving a body,” he asks, despairing.

Kawarama laughs. “Because you're as smart as you are pretty, obviously.” He winks, and giggles when Hikaku splutters, flushing red.

“I should just _set you on fire_ ,” Hikaku says, mostly to himself, but he doesn’t make any move to escape.

Fire. Now _that_ sounds promising. Kawarama perks up, latching onto his arm as he turns away. “Oh! You can do the fire thing? That’s awesome, you have to teach me.”

Hikaku gives him a wary sideways look. “I thought only Uchiha can manage it without burning themselves up?” he asks, bemused.

Kawarama just shrugs. “I mean, there’s no problem _trying_ it, right? And even if I'm bad at it, as long as I learn to throw it I can totally set _other_ people on fire, so that makes it worth it!”

For a long moment, Hikaku just stares at him. “You're insane,” he says, a bit faintly.

Blinking at him, Kawarama tips his head. “Not really? I mean, there's a margin of error, and if you account for that it’s easy enough to avoid dying. I can do _math_ , you know.”

“…Math,” Hikaku repeats, clearly bewildered.

“Like, calculations,” Kawarama explains cheerfully. “How to move and how fast things are going and impacts and physical force. Stuff like that.”

“And you do all of this. In your _head_. In the middle of a fight.”

Kawarama’s not entirely sure why he’s using that tone, because it’s easy. He shrugs, a little bored with this line of questioning, and says, “Yeah, so?”

Hikaku stares at him for another moment, then swallows. “Madara doesn’t have a chance of wiping out the Senju, does he?” he asks weakly, and when Kawarama opens his mouth to tell him the odds—because there's _always_ a chance, if they're unlucky enough and Madara has skills or allies they can't account for—Hikaku raises a hand. “No, no! That—I was being rhetorical. We can't risk a war either way, but…we definitely can't risk one against all of the Senju.”

That, at least, is true. Madara won last time because he demanded single combat, and he has to know that won't work again. That’s probably why he’s been building up his power so much—he’s finally got enough influence to move, and the forces to overwhelm the Senju without wiping out his own clan needlessly.

“And the Uzumaki,” Kawarama tells him, just for the sake of accuracy, and watches as Hikaku goes another shade paler.

“…And them,” he agrees, swallowing. “I—where’s this body you’re moving?”

“Under Madara's bed,” Kawarama says gleefully, just to watch him blanch even further. “It’s Izuna.”

“You're kidnapping Madara's sleeping brother,” Hikaku says dazedly. “Of course you are.”

Kawarama laughs. “I knew Izuna. He’s the best person to get Madara to stop trying to take over the city,” he says confidently. “And if he won't, killing him will probably make Madara lose it so it’s easier to kill _him_ , too.”

Hikaku makes a sound of complete despair. “Oh gods, you _are_ completely insane, aren’t you?”

“Just practical,” Kawarama disagrees, though from the look Hikaku gives him, he doesn’t share this opinion any more than Itama does.

“So you're kidnapping Izuna, and you're holding me hostage. Any other crimes against the Uchiha I should know about?” Hikaku rubs his temple with his free hand, even as he lets Kawarama steer him down the hall towards Madara's rooms.

Tilting his head, Kawarama considers. “Well, Hashirama wanted to hold Madara's consort hostage, but that didn’t really work out. And Tobirama is looking for Kagami, who Madara sealed and left somewhere because he spoke out against Madara taking over, but I don’t think that counts as a crime, right?”

Hikaku comes to a dead stop, and turns to grab Kawarama by the wrist. The expression on his face is suddenly burning, sharp with something like hope and maybe joy.

“Kagami is _alive_?” he demands.


	20. Vex not thy soul with dead philosophy

Aoba and Gai's guestroom is small, cramped, and familiar, and Kakashi has been staying here since long before it was Aoba and Gai's, back when it was just Gai's. More nights than he can count Gai dragged him back here, helped him limp through his most self-destructive phases, nursed him through injuries and stupidity and feeling like the world was crashing down around him. This place—this house—has always been somewhere safe, somewhere to catch his breath.

It’s fitting, really, that this is where they’d end up running to.

Kakashi can hear low voices in the living room, Gai patching up Aoba and Kisame watching, but he doesn’t move from his perch on the edge of the bed. Obito is arranged on top of the covers, still completely unconscious, and he’s shaking faintly, a muscle-deep tremor that has Kakashi’s heart in his throat. It’s still hours until dawn, but Obito hasn’t stirred at all, and Kakashi can't find any injury that would have done this to him.

There's blood smeared across his mouth, but the world’s greatest irony is that with Obito, Kakashi can't tell if it’s because he was drinking blood or because he was coughing it up.

He laughs a little at himself, wry and almost wretched, and leans back to brace himself against the headboard, one foot on the floor. A hand strokes through Obito's hair, but it isn’t _enough_ , and after a second of hesitation Kakashi leans down, gets his arms around Obito and hauls him up halfway into his lap. Obito feels far warmer than he should be, almost too hot even for a human, and Kakashi has no idea what that could possibly do to a vampire’s system but he’s sure it’s not good.

“You’re such a headache,” he says into Obito's hair, and at the end of the mattress Ūhei opens his eyes, ears pricking up. It’s too far to reach him for a pat, but Kakashi nudges him gently with one foot and Ūhei huffs happily, rolling onto his side and stretching out his legs. With a groan, he relaxes again, and Kakashi breathes out, reminds himself that Ūhei is fine, even if he’s limping a little. Bruised, probably, and Kakashi doesn’t know what happened inside the nest but he thinks it’s safe to say that Ūhei saved Obito, or at least helped him save himself.

Kakashi is just glad they both made it out in one piece. He skims his fingers lightly over the bruises on Obito's neck, cataloguing each one, how perfectly the marks take the shape of a hand, and lets it build the simmering embers of fury into a banked fire. Madara had his hands on Obito again, had him by the _throat_ , and Kakashi is going to pay back each mark with interest at the first opportunity.

A harder tremble rocks Obito, and he gasps like he’s fighting for breath. His eyes don’t open, but he latches on to Kakashi’s shirt, curls his fingers in his vest and twists like he wants to hide inside Kakashi’s skin. With a low sound of wordless comfort, Kakashi wraps his arms around him a little more tightly, pulls him up until Obito's head is tucked under his chin, and holds him as he shakes.

This is like a drug reaction, he can't help but think. Maybe there are drugs that work on vampires—he’s heard of some Hunters using silver nitrate against them as poison, so there have to be others as well—and maybe Madara dosed Obito. Thinking about _why_ Madara would want to drug Obito just makes Kakashi want to take a grenade launcher to his face, but he breathes out, lets his heartbeat slow as he drags his fingers up and down Obito's bare back in mindless rhythm.

“You're going to be all right,” he tells him, as soft as a breath, but he means it right down to his bones. Obito is here, and free, and Kakashi won't let there be any alternative other than him surviving. No matter what it takes.

There’s a barely-audible knock on the door, and a moment later it creaks open. Gai steps in, dark eyes flickering over Obito, over Kakashi, over the way Kakashi is holding him, and he smiles, approaching the bed with light steps.

“Are you hurt, my friend?” he asks cheerfully, if quietly, and holds up a first-aid kit. “Let me help you with that!”

No room left to say he isn’t hurt, Kakashi notes wryly, but then Gai knows better than anyone else how he tries to wriggle out of medical attention. Still, he pauses, glancing down at Obito, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking to believe he’s stopped shaking quite so hard, but—

“Sit up, Kakashi,” Gai says gently. “You don’t have to let go, but I see you bleeding through your shirt.”

Kakashi blinks in surprise, glancing down, and it takes a second of searching to spot the wound Mito left on him, scored across his ribs. “It doesn’t even hurt,” he says truthfully, but shifts enough that he can hold Obito with one arm, lifting his other to grip the rungs of the headboard so that Gai can work.

“You are too hip and cool to admit to pain even if you felt it!” Gai says, back to cheerful, and his grin is amused. “But infection won't care about your youthful attitude towards life, so we had best disinfect this!”

Rin's healing has spoiled him, Kakashi thinks, wincing as an alcohol wipe brushes over the torn skin. “Aoba is all right?” he asks, partly to distract himself. Aoba had _seemed_ fine, waltzing right through Kisame and Kakashi’s staring match over who would get Obito and carrying the vampire up the stairs himself, but then again, it’s Aoba. He took on a whole pack of hunting ghouls alone to save a little girl and then wandered back to headquarters under his own power to deliver the report, and actually managed to hand it in before he collapsed in a heap.

Gai's expression goes a fraction tighter, a shade darker, but he still smiles. “He will be fine. A little sore, perhaps, but nothing some rest and love will not fix!”

Ever since the first time they met, Aoba's been head over heels for Gai, and while Kakashi was wary at first—because Aoba used to sleep with anything that moved and indicated even the faintest interest, and Gai had never cared for sex, and Kakashi had worried about pressure on their relationship and friendships being broken and _emotions, yuck_ —he’s still entirely glad that it goes both ways. They're good for each other.

“I'm glad he has you,” he says without meaning to, and pauses, wondering if he wants to take it back. Even more surprising is that he doesn’t, really.

Gai's smile turns warm and soft and fond, and he carefully tapes a pad of gauze over Kakashi’s ribs and then sinks down onto the edge of the bed. “He does, and I have him, which makes me very lucky! But who is this, as he apparently has you?”

Right. Explanations, because Kakashi hadn’t spared time for any before. He winces a little, not wanting to get into the mess of supernatural politics when Gai happily orbits the fringes of their world, and turns over several variations of a story before he finally say, “His name is Obito. He was—really unpleasant people have had him for a long time, and I'm—”

 _Fond of him. Trying to make sure he doesn’t go back. Desperately,_ desperately _afraid that something is wrong with him. Ready to murder an entire court worth of vampires just so he never has to look at them again. Sick of people calling him a dog, or treating him like a slave, when he’s worth so much more._

There are too many words, and not enough. All the possibilities tangle on Kakashi’s tongue, and he has to close his mouth and swallow hard.

Because Gai is the best friend in the world, he doesn’t push, even if he does beam at Kakashi with fairly unnerving brightness. “He’s here now, at the very least,” he says, clapping Kakashi lightly on the shoulder as he pushes to his feet. “Everything else will come with time!”

Trust Gai to get right to the heart of things without even trying. Kakashi lets out a slow breath, curling his fingers around Obito's shoulder, and allows himself to believe it’s true. Obito is here now, and that will make it easier to help him in every way they can. He has Kakashi, and Kisame, and Aoba and Gai too, even if the rest of the world is against them.

“Thank you,” he says, almost too quiet, and Gai leans in to knock their foreheads together fondly.

“Of course, my friend! What kind of eternal rival would I be if I didn’t comfort you in your hour of need?” Gai beams.

Kakashi rolls his eyes and lightly pushes him away. “And now you’ve ruined it. Go make sure your boyfriend isn’t hurting himself any more, I'm going to get hives if I keep looking at you.”

Gai laughs, loud and happy, and agreeably bounds out of the room, letting the door thud shut behind him. From outside, Kakashi hears Aoba laugh, the particular whoop that means Gai has swept him off his feet, and Kisame's deep chuckle. It makes him huff, if only softly, because they're both ridiculous and deserve each other.

There’s a sudden, sharp breath against his collarbone, and in his arms Obito tenses faintly, his trembling forcibly stilled. The fingers gripping Kakashi’s shirt release, and he shifts back like he’s preparing to make a quick escape.

Something in Kakashi’s chest feels hollowed out, empty and aching with it. How many times has Obito woken up badly for this to be his first reaction? How many times has Madara turned consciousness into a nightmare for flight to be instinctive, even to someone like Obito? Kakashi thinks about it, because he can't _not_ , even as he slides his hand up Obito's spine, gently drags his fingers back down. He keeps his touches to Obito's upper back, doesn’t make any move except to breathe, steady and slow, for a long moment before he asks, “Awake, princess?”

The next exhale against his skin is ragged, and in an instant Obito is pressing forward again, burying his face in Kakashi’s neck and curling his arms as far around him as he can. “ _Kakashi_ ,” he says, and it’s so full of relief that it’s choked and rough. And then, “Fuck you, asshole, I'm not a fucking _princess_.”

There's a laugh bubbling up in Kakashi’s chest that feels like release, but he doesn’t let it out, just hums skeptically into Obito's hair. “I don’t know. It kind of feels like you're checking off a list at this point. We’ve covered Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty—”

Obito kicks him in the ankle, and Kakashi honestly can't tell if that fact that it’s weak is because it’s a good gauge of Obito's physical strength at the moment or because he just doesn’t want to make it hurt.

Knowing Obito, probably the former.

“When the fuck have I ever had anything in common with Beauty and the Beast?” he demands, even though he hasn’t lifted his head, and the words are muffled in Kakashi’s skin. “Unless you’re calling yourself Belle—”

“You’re not a beast,” Kakashi says lightly, but he means it so much each word is as heavy as lead in his mouth. Obito is _anything_ but a beast. “And besides, I was thinking Kisame could stand in there, seeing as he was willing to take on the Senju _and_ the Uchiha for you.”

“Kisame?” Obito shifts, leans back as far as he can in Kakashi’s grip to blink up at him. “You—where is he? Is he all right? Did they—?” He chokes on his question, and there's fear rising in his face that Kakashi has never seen him direct towards his own situation. And gods, but Kakashi _knew that_ , knew Obito jumped in front of a dog at the risk of his own life, was terrified of Madara seeing them touch on Kakashi’s behalf, for fear of what Madara might do to him, but—

How can he not want to protect Obito in return, when all Obito cares about is protecting other people?

“He’s fine,” Kakashi says, lets his fingers slide into Obito's hair to gently urge him to lie back down. He’s still too hot, and when he’s distracted there's a fine tremor running through him. Kakashi isn’t sure what's wrong with him, or how to fix it, but he’s fairly certain flailing around won't help. “The Unseelie King caught him in a glamour, but that’s the worst that happened to him tonight.”

Relief fills Obito's expression, and he slides back down into Kakashi’s chest with a huff. Kakashi is fairly certain his muscles just gave out, but he’s not about to bring it up.

“Thank fuck,” Obito murmurs, pressing his forehead against Kakashi’s collarbone. There's a pause, and then he makes a sound of discomfort and curls more closely into Kakashi’s body. “Fuck, I feel like _shit_.”

If he’d admitting it, it’s probably even worse than Kakashi thought. Frowning a little, he curves his hand over Obito's forehead, more habit than anything—he can already tell Obito is feverish. “You’re hot.”

There's a pause, and Obito turns his head just enough to arch an eyebrow at Kakashi, who gives him a bullshit smile in return. Both interpretations of that statement are accurate, after all.

Rolling his eye, Obito apparently decides to let that go. “I feel cold,” he admits, and his eye slides shut again, his next breath escaping a little more softly. “And…green.”

Kakashi blinks, because that’s certainly not a description of a feeling he’s heard before. It brings to mind the sudden growth in the forest, though, the magic that practically knocked an obscenely powerful sorceress on her ass and let Obito teleport the same way Madara does. Too many questions, and Kakashi thinks of Fugaku, of _Madara's greatest weapon_ , and can't fight a frown.

“I think we all need to talk when you wake up,” he says, carding his fingers through Obito's hair. “There are a lot of questions floating around, but maybe someone has the answers.”

“’M awake,” Obito mutters grumpily, though his eye is still closed, his body going lax and heavy against Kakashi’s.

“Only kind of,” Kakashi says with amusement, brushing a few unruly strands of dark hair out of his face. “Don’t worry, I'm sure Gai will stop me from drawing anything too ridiculous on your face while you’re playing Sleeping Beauty.”

There's an indistinct, vaguely annoyed grumble that has a few syllables in common with _just try it, bastard_ , but nothing more coherent. Kakashi gives it another few minutes before he lifts his hand, and can’t help but smile at the sight of Obito passed out on his chest. It’s probably not going to be anywhere near comfortable in a few hours, but at least for now Kakashi has absolutely no plans of moving. Madara is going to be dealing with the Senju, and the Senju will be dealing with Madara, and the Hunters are going to be busy dealing with the fallout.

There are a few hours before they need to start planning, and for now at least Kakashi isn’t going to let Obito out of his sight.  

 

 

Consciousness comes more easily the second time around.

Obito stays perfectly still for a long moment, assessing, and strangles a groan into the pillow. He still feels like shit, but at least this time it’s in the way of “got hit by a car” rather than the previous “got run over by a train and then set on fire”. Every muscle is shaky, but his heart is beating too fast and he can't quite pull enough air into his lungs. He’s _cold_ , too, which is something new; ever since Madara turned him temperature hasn’t really mattered, but right now his bones might as well be ice, radiating their chill up through him.

“Ugh,” he manages, mostly a word, and there's movement next to him.

A hand settles in his hair, warm and steady, and a voice asks, “Actually awake this time? Or are you just complaining in your sleep again?”

“Fuck you,” Obito tells him, but he gets an elbow underneath himself and pushes up a little, pleased when he doesn’t immediately crumple back to the mattress. There's a strange prickle under his skin, but he ignores it, glancing up to find Kakashi hovering over him. The Hunter looks rumpled like he just woke up, and he’s shirtless, with a patch of bandages on his side that Obito doesn’t remember from their night together.

“Whenever you like,” Kakashi agrees, wickedly cheerful, and chuckles when Obito makes a face at him. Sliding back into bed, he tugs Obito up, slowly enough that Obito can get a knee braced on the sheets, and then leans in, wrapping his arms around him. Lips press against the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, a lingering kiss, and Kakashi’s fingers are firm on his skin, unwavering.

There's something like a smile pulling at Obito's mouth, and he ducks his head, hiding it in Kakashi’s hair. “Sap,” he accuses. “Are genius Hunters really supposed to be this _excessively cuddly_?”

Kakashi makes a noise of deep offense. “I am exactly the right amount of cuddly,” he protests, and in an instant he’s toppled them over, rolling on top of Obito with a cheerfully mischievous smile. “Are you _complaining_ , Obito?”

There isn’t a single damn thought in Obito's head right now that isn’t entirely preoccupied with the heat of Kakashi’s skin, the weight of his body. His breath stutters in his lungs, and almost unconsciously he reaches up, gets his hands on Kakashi’s shoulders and urges him down.

Kakashi comes with a will, bracing his elbows on either side of Obito's head and slanting their mouths together, urging his head back until he can deepen the kiss. His tongue slips along Obito's, teasing more than tasting, and Obito's breath hitches, stutters, slides out on a quiet moan. He can feel Kakashi’s smile against his lips, and he strokes his hands down leanly muscled shoulders, over hard biceps and then back up. There's a sound of interest that he steals right from Kakashi’s mouth, tilting his hips and sliding one of his legs out of the way so that Kakashi can settle fully on top of him.

With a quiet breath, Kakashi pulls away, and the backs of his fingers skim down Obito's scarred cheek. He just looks at Obito for a long minute, and his expression is something that manages to be soft and warm and wild all at once.

“You scared me,” he says, leaning down to rest their foreheads together. His eyes fall shut, but Obito can't look away. Kakashi is beautiful like this, shadows catching on his cheekbones, white lashes a pale crescent against darker skin. Obito can feel each of Kakashi’s breaths through his body, the beat of his heart, the rush of his pulse. He lets out a breath of his own, shaky and almost stunned, captivated in a way he shouldn’t be. Pretty people are nothing new—most vampires are, since it’s a good portion of why their Sires turn them in the first place—but with Kakashi, it’s not just that he’s gorgeous, even though he is. There's…a softness to it. Something that makes it matter more. Not just looks but—

Something else, and Obito isn’t quite brave enough to put a name to it yet.

“It’s not like you were in a perfectly safe place, either,” he says, lets one hand slide up to cup the back of Kakashi’s neck. “When Ūhei showed up, I thought—”

Nothing definite. Nothing concrete beyond a flicker of bone-deep fear, but it had been there the whole time, itching at him.

Dark grey eyes slide open, and Kakashi smiles. It crinkles his eyes, adds warmth and humor to the lines of his face, and Obito has to swallow. With an amused breath, Kakashi shifts to touch their noses together, a butterfly kiss that lingers for a long moment before he trades it for a regular kiss, gentle and slow. Obito tilts his head into it, one kiss, another, a third, and Kakashi’s mouth is more dangerous than any of his knives. This man is definitely going to kill him, even if it isn’t quite as literally as Obito had thought at first.

“You're safe,” Kakashi murmurs, steals another kiss. “I’m safe.” Another, deliberately off-center this time. “Ūhei is safe.” A third, with just a flicker of tongue against the seam of Obito's lips. “Everyone is safe.”

A hand on Obito's cheek, and this time it’s deep, slow, unspools a careful heat through Obito's blood and makes him moan. His fingers curl in Kakashi’s hair, holding him in place, and Obito kisses back with all the intent he can gather, fits his mouth and body and breath to Kakashi’s. It’s almost painfully sweet, edged with a playfulness that makes Obito's chest tight and hot, and there's no drive behind it, no urge beyond the closeness that comes with each kiss. There's the possibility of sex in each slanting press of lips, but there's also the possibility that nothing more will come of it. Not from lack of opportunity, but because there doesn’t _need_ to be any more.

Obito has never felt anything quite like it.

Kakashi hums into his mouth, shifts his weight just enough to brace himself, and Obito moans at the slide of skin. He drags his fingers over Kakashi’s nape, light and teasing, and then skims them over his spine, drags a low, sharp noise from Kakashi’s throat. One of Kakashi’s hands slides down over his chest to curl around his side, pressing in, and Obito bites off a gasp, eye fluttering closed—

The door flies open with a loud thud. “Oi, if you're in here jerking off over the technically dead body of your vampire boyfriend I'm going to…judge…you. Uh.” A tall, dark-haired man in dark sunglasses stares at them, halfway into the room and very definitely not leaving. The crow on his shoulder makes a derisive, mocking sound and ruffles its feathers.

With a groan, Kakashi pulls his mouth away from Obito's, dropping his head onto Obito’s shoulder. “Aoba,” he says, somewhere between a threat and a complaint.

But Aoba isn’t looking at Kakashi. He glances behind himself, into the other room, then turns back, and his brows are lifted so high Obito can see them over his sunglasses. “You're _awake_ ,” he says, entirely incredulous.

Suddenly self-conscious, Obito twists, sliding out from underneath Kakashi and sitting up. “If you’ve been listening to Kakashi’s bullshit about Sleeping Beauty—” he starts warningly.

Aoba tips his head. “Uh, no. I try not to listen to any of Kakashi’s bullshit, actually. But I could have sworn that you were a vampire. And Kisame told me that, so I'm inclined to trust it.”

Obito has no idea why this is in question. He bares his teeth, flashing fangs, and snaps, “ _Yes_ , I'm a fucking vampire, why are you asking?”

“Actually,” Aoba says blithely, “I’d say Kakashi is the one fucking a vampire, but—”

With a pained sound, Kakashi makes a halfhearted attempt to throw the pillow at him.

Pointedly, Aoba watches it sail about three feet and drop to the floor, then grins. “ _But_ ,” he says, “no one mentioned that you were an _old_ vampire, and I feel like someone should have. I’d have made sure all the curtains were shut.”

“What?” Obito asks blankly. “I'm not old. I've only been a vampire fifty years.”

Aoba frowns, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and checks the screen. Then, very deliberately, he aims it at Obito so he can see the numbers glowing there. “Then why the hell are you awake at three o’clock in the afternoon?”


	21. Have we not lips to kiss with, hearts to love and eyes to see

“ _What_?” Obito slides off the side of the bed, staggers the three steps to the door, and grabs Aoba's phone. Easy enough to pull up an online clock and check that it’s not just a malfunction, and it’s not but it _has_ to be. Not even _Madara_ wakes up this early.

Aoba looks at his face, glances at Kakashi, and then plucks his mobile from Obito's nerveless fingers. “I’ll get Gai to close the curtains,” he says, almost gently. “Give me two minutes.”

Obito hardly even registers the words, caught up in the realization that he’s awake during the _day_. Not even the middle of the evening, like he usually manages, but while the sun is still high and there's _light_. His skin prickles, almost a shiver, and he wraps his arms around himself and takes a careful breath that wants to shake.

A callused hand touches his back, slides up between his shoulder blades and then back down, gentle strokes that start to ease the tightness from his lungs. He leans back into Kakashi’s body, and warm arms slide around him as Kakashi pulls him in, pressing his cheek to Obito's hair.

“What did it _do_ to me?” Obito asks, and the words crack around an incredulous laugh in his mouth.

There's a pause, and then Kakashi makes a curious sound. “It?” he asks, and that tone could be light, but there's something underneath it that makes Obito remember Kakashi is just as dangerous as any supernatural creature.

He reaches up to touch his mouth, but Kakashi must have cleaned him up while he was unconscious, because there's no remnant of blood. “I bit Hashirama,” he admits.

With how closely pressed together they are, he can feel Kakashi’s jerk. “You _what_?” he says, stepping away and tugging Obito around to face him. He looks Obito over like he’s expecting spontaneous wounds to appear, and then asks, “Hashirama _Senju_?”

Before Obito can answer, Aoba leans back into the room. “You're safe to come out now,” he says, and even though Obito can't see his eyes he can feel his gaze, sharp with interest. “I think in the name of surviving the next few days we all need to start comparing stories. Shit’s happening _fast_ , and I for one would like to start acting instead of just reacting all the time.”

“But your reactions are so cute,” Kakashi says, even though he’s still watching Obito. Knee-jerk mockery, probably—if anyone could make that a thing, Obito is willing to bet it’s Kakashi.

Aoba makes a rude noise. “I’ll tell Gai you called him your best friend _ever_ ,” he threatens, and grins with satisfaction when Kakashi winces. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Come on, I’ll make coffee. Just let me say goodbye to Gai.”

He ducks back out, and Obito takes a breath, eying the distance to the door. Only a few steps, and he can probably make it, but if he falls on his face someone is going to die. Madara, hopefully, but Obito won't start buying lottery tickets just yet.

An arm wraps around his waist, and Kakashi pulls him against his side, leaning in to press a loud, showy kiss to his temple. “You can start hobbling whenever you like,” he says cheerfully, though the lines around his eyes are a little tighter than they should be.

“Bastard.” Obito can totally balance well enough to kick him in the ankle, and doesn’t hesitate to do so. Kakashi just chuckles, pulling him out into the darkened living room and steering him towards the couch. Before they can get there, though, there’s a sound, and Obito turns, looking up, and then up again to meet Kisame's eyes.

“Kisame,” he says with relief, because it’s one thing to hear he’s all right and another to see it, especially right after Kakashi telling him Kisame was trying to take on two courts. A breath, and he can't help a smile for the man, wry and crooked and thankful. “And you told _me_ not to do anything stupid.”

Kisame chuckles a touch sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. His smile is full of teeth, but it’s also relieved and warm. “Looks like we both ended up making bad choices,” he says, grinning.

Casting a look at Kakashi, Obito snorts, then pushes away to balance on his own. “Clearly. You didn’t get hurt?”

“Maa,” Kakashi says in mild protest, and is ignored.

“Already healed,” Kisame says, which isn’t an answer at all, but he just laughs when Obito levels a look at him. “Aoba stepped in,” he says. “Looks like we both got saved by Hunters. It’ll have to be our secret.”

“To the grave,” Obito agrees dryly, and when Kakashi makes a vaguely offended noise he pinches his arm lightly. “Oh, fuck off. Your ego will survive.”

“You don’t know that for _sure_ ,” Kakashi tells him, but Obito can see the crinkle around his eyes and calls bullshit.

From further into the apartment, there's a loud squawk, a cackle, a screech. Kakashi immediately winces, like he knows the source, and an instant later there’s a howl. Something shatters, and three dogs bolt into the room, skidding across the wooden floor. One crashes into the back of the couch, while the pug trips over the edge of the carpet, rolls head over heels, and then sits down hard, looking aggrieved. The third, a bright red shape, catches sight of Obito, barks joyfully, and changes directions with only a brief stumble. Ūhei bounds across the room and leaps up, and Obito yelps as the dog’s full weight hits him in the stomach. He trips back and misses his footing, and Kakashi lunges to catch him but is about two seconds too late. Obito goes crashing to the floor with Ūhei on top of him, and the dog gleefully licks his face as Obito splutters.

From the kitchen doorway, there's a laugh, bright and happy. “Kakashi!” a man in a green tracksuit cries, practically bounding into the room. “Your dogs have accepted this man as someone dear to you! How exciting!”

“Hi, Gai,” Kakashi says dryly. “Gai, this is Obito. Obito, Gai.”

Obito splutters as Ūhei knocks his patch askew, tries to fend off the dog, and fails miserably as Ūhei just wriggles under his arms and keeps licking. He’s laughing, he realizes belatedly, laughing with relief and amusement and the sheer gladness that Ūhei is all right, and he gives up on trying to get up, wrapping one arm around Ūhei’s shoulders and pulling him down. Lifting a hand, he waves a greeting to Gai, then twists his head away from a lick that would have hit him squarely in the mouth and snorts.

“Oh, you are _definitely_ Kakashi’s dog,” he tells Ūhei, snickering. “I see the similarities already.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Kakashi says, mildly affronted, but he’s smiling too. “Ūhei, that’s enough.”

With a whine, Ūhei settles down on Obito's chest, tail thumping the carpet, and Obito immediately strokes his ears, itching lightly behind them. “You're okay,” he says. “Good boy. You saved me, didn’t you? Twice over.”

Ūhei huffs, dropping his head on Obito's chest, and looks entirely pleased with himself. Laughing, Obito strokes his head, then gently pushes him off and sits up. Immediately, Ūhei curls up at his side, clearly not about to be moved, and relocates his head to Obito's knee.

Obito snorts, then looks up and offers Gai a faintly wry smile. “Hi,” he says, a little self-conscious of the bruises on his throat, which his lack of shirt does nothing to hide. “Thanks. For letting us stay.”

Gai beams, flashing him a thumbs-up. “Anyone dear to Kakashi is welcome at any time!” he declares.

There's heat rising in his cheeks, and Obito ducks his head to hide it, focusing instead on Ūhei. The dog huffs at him, happy to accept any amount of petting, and Obito pushes down the whisper of _dear to Kakashi_ that he can't quite manage to put out of mind. It’s…well. Tempting. But he already knew that.

“Gai, your minions are here!” Aoba calls from the other room.

“Ah!” Gai pretty much strikes a pose. “I will head downstairs and meet them, so that we might help others embrace the full fire of their youth and live life to its fullest, unafraid!”

“Support group,” Aoba clarifies, reemerging with a crow on each shoulder and one on his head. Obito has pretty much decided not to ask, but it’s probably the equivalent of Kakashi’s dogs, he thinks. There are stories about Hunters making deals with animal spirits, and he’s never quite been able to decide if they were true or not. This isn’t exactly helping. “No one is getting set on fire, this is just a support group.”

“Support for questioning youth!” Gai agrees, and as Aoba comes up to him he grabs him around the waist, lifts him off his feet, and twirls him around, startling the crows into flight. Aoba laughs, grabbing his shoulders, and when Gai slows and puts him down with a flourish, he leans up and touches their foreheads together.

“Not a kiss day?” he asks easily.

“Not today, beloved,” Gai confirms, and he wraps Aoba in a tight hug before he pulls back, beams at the rest of them, and calls, “Have a good evening!”

“You too, Gai,” Kakashi says with amusement, over Kisame's agreeing murmur, and waits until the door has fallen shut behind his friend before he leans down and offers Obito a hand. “So,” he says, leveling a look at Obito. “I think this is the part where you explain how you managed to bite _Hashirama Senju_.”

“ _What_?” Aoba squawks, and Kisame's eyes widen sharply.

Obito gives Kakashi a glare, but sighs, taking his hand and letting Kakashi pull him to his feet and over to the sofa. “It’s not like I went out of my way to try and take a chunk out of him,” he complains, but one look at Kisame and Kakashi proves there's no way to get out of this. With a groan, he drags a hand though his hair, then says, “Madara was pissed that Mikoto got out, and he guessed that I had something to do with it, so he dragged me down to—”

His throat closes, and he can't quite get any words out. _The torture chamber where he apparently stole my memories_ , he could say, or _a room set up for rituals, and I've been there before but I can't remember what happened to me_. Or even _the room where he was going to brainwash me into a mindless follower, because apparently that’s_ something he’s done before _, and just thinking about it makes me feel sick_.

He takes a ragged breath, but before he can say anything, Kakashi’s hand is on his arm, sliding over his shoulder to pull him in against his side, and Kakashi presses his lips to his temple. “Is this all right?” he asks quietly, and Obito can't do anything but laugh.

“You're a sap,” he accuses, but there's no heat behind it at all, and he presses into the touch, halfway wanting to just keep going, to crawl into Kakashi’s lap like some kind of pathetic child. He doesn’t, but for a moment it’s a near thing.

Still, just the warmth of Kakashi’s arm around him, the press of his body, is enough of a reminder that he escaped, that he isn’t there. Obito forces his thoughts into order, makes himself remember, and says, “Madara has a room set up for rituals in one of the lower levels. He—I remember it. I tried to set him on fire less than a year after he turned me, and he left me down there with one of his sorcerers for six months. When he was gloating about it, he said he took my memories of what made me want to kill him the first time, and—I never even _noticed_.”

Kisame takes a low, sharp breath, but before he can say anything Aoba taps the edge of his glasses. “Mental magic works like that,” he says thoughtfully. “I've read that it’s a self-defense mechanism to keep your brain from noticing the gaping hole where something should be.”

That’s not exactly a comforting thought, and Obito gives him a glare, even if he doesn’t seem to notice. Against his side, Kakashi lets out a quiet noise of exasperation and reaches up, skimming his fingers over Obito's scars, all too visible right now. “Is that where you got these?”

Obito thinks about twitching away, about refusing to answer, but—it’s a knee-jerk reaction, by now. He considers it for a moment, and is almost startled to find that he doesn’t _mind_ Kakashi touching his scars. Madara always does it like he’s making a point, or giving Obito a pointed reminder, but Kakashi is just…touching him. Like he doesn’t see any difference between scars and regular skin.

“Yeah,” he says, and if it comes out a little choked, maybe Kakashi will put it down to the subject matter. “I don’t remember much about getting them, but Danzō was there, and it hurt.”

Kakashi’s arm tightens around him, like he knows just how much of an understatement that is, and he drops his hand to curl his fingers around Obito's side, pulling him even closer. There's a warm breath against Obito's cheek, carefully measured, and Kakashi says, “Orochimaru thought they might have done it to you for a ritual. To transfer power.”

His skin prickles again, and Obito swallows, remembering the way the world turned over, how he reappeared next to Ūhei in an instant the way he’s only ever seen Madara do. Always, always, that ability has meant _Madara_ to him, but—what if it’s not?

What if it’s _his_ , and this is just another thing that Madara stole from him?

“And what about the green?” Kisame asks, and the tone is light but his eyes are serious. “That’s Hashirama Senju’s power, and even if you bit him, it shouldn’t have turned you into Poison Ivy just like that.”

Obito blinks. “What?” he asks, looking from Kisame to Kakashi to Aoba and back again. “Green? What are you talking about?”

There's a pause as all three of them stare right back, and Aoba leans against the arm of a chair, folding his arms across his chest. “The way you brought the forest to life and turned it against Mito Uzumaki,” he says, assessing, and Obito can feel the weight of his stare.

Kakashi hums quietly in agreement, fingers stroking lightly across Obito's ribs. “When you woke up before, you said you felt green,” he confirms. “I assume it had something to do with that.”

Obito's breath catches hard in his throat and he bends forward, curls his fingers into his hair and forces himself to breathe out, sharp and harsh. “I don’t remember,” he says, bright sparks of pain flickering through his scalp as he twists his fingers tighter. “I can't—there's—”

A feeling. A flicker, somewhere deep beneath his skin, and it’s like the moment when Hashirama’s blood slid down his throat, burned all the way to the core of him. It woke something up, and Obito doesn’t know if it’s his imagination or not that he thinks he can feel it right now, branching out beneath his skin and threading through his veins, curling roots deep into his lungs.

“Hashirama stopped us,” he says, and it rasps harshly in his throat. He glances down, looks for Ūhei to remind himself that they both made it to safety, and the dog pricks his ears up, immediately scrambling over to Obito and sitting down on his feet. Obito can't fight a tired smile, reaching out to stroke Ūhei’s thick fur even though his hand shakes. “He was going to seal me, and I thought—Ūhei tried to stop them, but there were four of them, and…he got hurt. Hashirama had his hand over my mouth, so I just—used my teeth to make him let go.”

“The fact that he let go means something,” Kisame says with a chuckle, and when Obito glances up at him he grins, all sharp teeth. “You get any good hits in against Madara, kid?”

“I told you, I'm a hell of a lot older than you, so knock that off,” Obito retorts. He pauses, remembering the fight, and it’s easy to focus on the despair he felt, the terror, fighting and knowing he wasn’t going to win. But—

“Yeah,” he says, and smiles a little. “I kneed him in the balls so hard his eyes crossed, and told him he should consider it a divorce.”

Kisame laughs, loud and delighted, and leans over to clap him hard on the shoulder. From his other side, Kakashi snorts, his hold tightening, and Obito has just enough time to catch a flash of a smirk before Kakashi loops his arms around his waist and _pulls_. With a yelp, Obito is hauled into his lap, and he smacks Kakashi in the back of the head, but there's a tremble in Kakashi’s shoulder that’s more than just laughter, and he presses his face to Obito's chest, hiding his expression.

For a second, Obito blinks down at him, then rolls his eye a little and cups the back of Kakashi’s head in his hand. “Hey,” he says, and tries to make it light, but it comes out more serious than he intends. “I'm fine.”

The sound Kakashi makes is more polite disagreement than anything, but he doesn’t lift his head. “You are now,” he says, and his arms tighten just a little. “This—could it all be a reaction to Hashirama’s blood?”

“You mean whatever’s got him up so early and is giving him the shakes?” Aoba tilts his head, considering. “Probably. Hashirama’s, what? At least two hundred and fifty, if I remember right. That’s a pretty potent snack right there, and if you’d eaten a lot beforehand—”

“I didn’t,” Obito says quietly, and swallows, the memory of Madara's mouth on his skin all too clear. “Or—I did, but Madara drained me before the party.”

Aoba pauses, a peculiar look flashing across his face, and he reaches for his glasses. “You're telling me that you used Madara's disappearing trick _and_ that plant trick on an _empty stomach_?”

“Aoba—” Kakashi starts, like a warning, and Obito can feel him tense, sitting up straight.

“I hear your objection and I don’t care,” Aoba informs him. “Kitchen light is off and the curtains are closed, I'm fine.” He pushes his glasses up into his hair, and Obito takes one look at the vicious red scars painted across both eyes and knows what they are.

“Someone cursed you,” he says, and isn’t sure whether he’s surprised or not.

Given the way Aoba burst in on him and Kakashi, he kind of wants to say _not_.

“A witch,” Aoba agrees, almost cheerfully, and startlingly pale eyes flicker over Obito, lingering in strange places. He frowns, hesitating, and then says, “There are…tethers on you. Leading out. I’d bet a year of bounties that’s how Madara's taking that ability from you. And can I just say it’s _really_ surprising you haven’t snapped and gone into a blood-crazed feeding frenzy yet? Because the last time I saw a vampire with as little energy as you, they were actually _dead_. _Permanently_ dead.”

Obito frowns right back at him, because he feels bad, but not _hungry_. Or at least not any hungrier than normal. “Feeding frenzy? Fuck you, I can control myself.”

“You're a charmer, aren’t you?” Aoba rolls his eyes, but his gaze immediately drops back to Obito, studying him. “Never? No blackouts where you wake up surrounded by bodies? Because honestly, if that’s the case I have no idea how you're still standing. I've seen will-o’-wisps with more magic than you have right now.”

Making a face at him, Obito curls his arms around himself as much as he can with Kakashi still holding on to him. “Given how I feel right now, I don’t think _more_ blood is going to fix things,” he complains. “I already overdosed on Hashirama’s blood, I don’t need to add to that.”

Kisame chuckles, watching him with amusement that doesn’t quite manage to cover the sharpness underneath. “I don’t know,” he says lightly. “Maybe Hashirama’s blood isn’t feeding you, but doing something else entirely. Some regular blood could be what you need to balance things out.”

“You said you were feeling green, didn’t you?” Aoba offers, in a tone that says he agrees. He reaches out, finger tracing though the air to hover at scattered points around Obito, and he makes a quiet, thoughtful sound. “These bits—I can see why you’d say that. It’s like someone planted seeds in your aura, and they only just took root.”

Obito shivers before he can stop himself, because something about those words feels strangely, menacingly familiar. He shifts back without quite meaning to, and Kakashi presses a quick kiss to his shoulder and then rests his chin on it, fingers tracing nonsense patterns across Obito's skin.

“I don’t—don’t know _why_ ,” he manages, on the edge of bewildered. “There's no _reason_ why I should be able to—”

“Madara had you,” Kakashi says, and there's the barest edge of a growl in his voice. “Six months is a long time.”

Not as long as fifty years, Obito wants to say, but somehow he doesn’t think that will help calm Kakashi down.

The thought triggers a memory, though, a flash of recollection. “Madara's always said I was the best thing he ever made,” he says, and tries not to grimace as he remembers all the times. Usually while they were in bed, when Obito was incoherent and begging, and he’d thought it was just Madara's narcissism playing up again, congratulating himself for Obito's existence, but— “I don’t—I don’t remember him saying it until after the labs.”

The sound Kakashi makes into his skin is low and unhappy but intent. “He did something to you,” he says. “More than just the tether.”

It seems like the only possibility, because Obito is pretty sure he didn’t start his life—or even his undead life—with the ability to grow plants without even thinking about it. It makes him shiver unhappily, the thought of Madara or his pet sorcerer getting his hands on Obito's very being, twisting new threads of magic into his makeup. Unpleasant, to say the least.

“The point stands, though,” Aoba says, something close to gentle, and he doesn’t look away from Obito's suspicious glare. “Taking blood could help you, and it probably won't hurt no matter what is wrong with you.” Another vague motion through the air, like he’s following a path Obito can't see. “These spots— _something_ is feeding them and leaving the rest of your body alone. Everywhere else you're pretty much on the edge of actually starving to death, but the green’s been supercharged. Three guesses why that is.”

Hashirama’s blood, without a doubt, but—

Obito swallows. “I can't go out and hunt,” he says. “Madara still controls the city. If he finds me…” That metal table with its silver cuffs is probably waiting, and nausea turns in Obito's stomach at the thought. Against all the odds, he got away; he’s never, ever going back.

“Good thing there are three of us, then, right?” Aoba says, voice light. He tugs his sleeve back, baring one wrist, and adds, “I think I can spare a pint or two, in the name of a good cause.”

Instantly, Obito recoils, jerking back as far as Kakashi’s hold will let him. “ _No_ ,” he snaps, and pretends that his heart isn’t suddenly racing even faster than before. His head spins as he stands up, staggering a step before he finds his feet, and Ūhei whines, high and sharp and worried. “No, I'm not going to _feed from you_ , what the fuck?”

Aoba takes a step back, clearly startled, but before he can say anything Kisame is rising to his feet, huge but entirely unthreatening, and he meets Obito's eyes squarely.

“I've been waiting to offer that for ten years,” he says quietly, and his smile is on the edge of wry. “I never thought it would be worth anything, with Madara draining you, but now he isn’t. Might as well take the chance, right?”

Obito stops, stunned, and stares at the man, but there's no tell in his face that he’s anywhere close to joking. Just steady sincerity, and Obito can't understand _why_.

“It’s—it’s like losing control,” he says, and it’s only practice that keeps his voice from wavering. “Why would you _want_ that, fuck, it’s—”

“You need it,” Kakashi says, and when Obito turns to glare at him, the Hunter just smiles at him. “I know why you feel the way you do, but if this can save you from something Madara did to you, I’ll volunteer in a heartbeat.”

Aoba tips his head in a nod, pulling his glasses back down to cover his eyes. “The whole saving you thing might not be entirely metaphorical, either. I mean, you're feeling bad now, but what’s going to happen to you when all of Hashirama’s blood has been used up? Maybe the growth stops, but­—what if it doesn’t?”


	22. Dost thou not hear the murmuring nightingale

The hitch of Kakashi’s breath is audible, and he pushes to his feet, reaches out like he can't help himself. Obito hesitates, just for a moment, but he takes Kakashi’s hand anyways, couldn’t stop himself if he tried. A light tug, more suggestion than anything else, but nothing in Obito can resist. He lets Kakashi lean into him, feels the press of warm bare skin and takes a careful breath.

“Fugaku caught us in the forest,” Kakashi says, one hand splaying across Obito's hip. It’s hardly even a hug, but the closeness is still more of a comfort than Obito would ever have thought. “He didn’t know much about Madara's plans, but he kept calling you Madara's greatest weapon. And he said that Madara had been watching you for at least ten years before he turned you.”

 _What_? Obito jerks around, staring at him in surprise, and it feels like the world is shifting under his feet, sliding away like quicksand. He’d always thought—

“It was _chance_ ,” he says, the words thick in his throat, and doesn’t know why he’s praying for them to be true, for Kakashi to be wrong. “He just—he saw me in a bar and I took him home, and he liked me. That’s—there's no way—”

But…Madara had been drinking at the bar, sitting alone at the edge of the shadows, and he’d been so unbelievably beautiful that Obito hadn’t even _tried_ to talk to him. He’d just ordered his own drink, prepared to leave, and startled when a hand landed on his wrist. Madara had smiled at him, sly and interested, and he’d looked Obito over with something like surprise on his face.

 _You're a pretty one,_ he’d said, and no one had ever called Obito anything close before. _Be careful. Those men over there have been eyeing you since you walked in, and they don’t look the wholesome sort._

Obito had been out of his depth, in the middle of doing something entirely new, and he’d taken the warning as gospel, accepted it without hesitation and thanked Madara shyly, and Madara had reeled him in further with every word. Until this very moment, Obito's never even _considered_ that their meeting was anything but what it looked like on the surface, never thought that there was any possibility that Madara sought him out in particular. But—

He remembers the prickle of eyes on him for weeks beforehand, how he constantly turned around to look behind himself only to find an empty street. Remembers how the feeling intensified after dark, and how he’d walked home from his job each night with the eerie, unsettling certainty that there was always someone just a few step behind him, unseen but ever-present.

“Obito?” Kakashi asks quietly.

Obito swallows hard, leans into him without even thinking about it. “Why _me_?” he demands. “Why the fuck would he pick me, out of everyone in the world? What the fuck did I do to get his attention when I was _ten_?”

There's a pause, and then Kisame makes a low, unhappy sound. “He watched you from when you were a child and still made you his consort,” he says, and there's an edge of teeth to the words.

“Creepy as fuck,” is Aoba's verdict, and he wrinkles his nose, pushing his glasses up higher.

“Age is different for immortals,” Obito says, rolling his eye a little. “I'm at least forty years older than Kakashi, but you're not protesting _that_.”

“Well, _yeah_ , because you're not _stalking a child_ ,” Aoba retorts, and Obito winces. All right, looking at it like that definitely puts it in a different light.

Even so, it definitely doesn’t help Obito understand _why_. “He wouldn’t have seen anything, though,” he says, almost helplessly. “I didn’t have any family, I was raised in the system. I didn’t even have any _friends_ until—” Until Yahiko, at first, and then Kisame, but it’s too pathetic to say that out loud. He swallows, looks into Kakashi’s worried eyes with no idea what to say. “Why _me_?” he asks again.

“This would be the cure thing Fugaku mentioned, right?” Aoba tips his head, considering. “Madara was looking for a cure, but he got a weapon instead. He got _you_. And somehow you tie into whatever plan he has to wipe out the Senju.”

Obito's breath tangles in his throat. “Wipe them _out_?” he demands, and horror splinters through him like lightning. “You don’t—wiping out a whole vampire bloodline isn’t _possible_. And especially not the _Senju_. The Uchiha have numbers, but the Senju are strong, and almost every last one of them has magic, too. Madara's Children are just good with fire if they're _lucky_.”

Kakashi hums, deceptively light. “But if one or two people could just appear behind the Senju’s wards, and if one of those people was able to turn a whole forest against them with a thought…” He trails off pointedly.

“I would never go along with that,” Obito says quietly, looking back up to hold grey eyes. When Kakashi opens his mouth, likely to protest that he knows that, Obito just shakes his head once. “Not in my right mind,” he clarifies grimly. “But Madara _knows that_. He was bringing Danzō in again, though. Just like last time when he took my memories. And this time—”

How much more would he have taken? How much of Obito would have been left when he was done?

 

 

Genma catches sight of fiery red hair before he even feels the flicker of drowning-deep magic washing across the park. Spells shimmer in the twilight, brought into sharp relief as they're struck, but the tide of power doesn’t sweep them under, only illuminates them. She’s testing, Genma thinks, teasing. Letting the Hunters outside know that she sees them and their wards, and could break them as easily as snapping a toothpick.

Kushina's always had a flare for the dramatic, though, so that’s nothing new.

He leaps down from the tree he’s spent the last few minutes in, landing lightly in a crouch, and eyes the darkened shadows of the tunnel ahead, the way the darkness there is a little more fluid than it should be. It doesn’t cling where it should, moves freely rather than being confined by the edges of the light, and Genma presses close to the edge of the forest as he makes for it, steps perfectly silent across the leaf-strewn ground. On the bridge above the tunnel, something shifts, and the red he’s been halfheartedly tracking vanishes again.

Stupid to follow, probably, but Genma takes a breath and only smells lilies on the wind, a hint of jasmine and wood smoke underneath. Familiar in a way he’d never thought it would be, a few years ago, so he slides out of the trees and right into the shadows, stepping through darkness that clings like spider-silk.

There's a rush of air, entirely expected, and Genma drops, throwing himself forward into a roll as something blindingly fast streaks overhead. He leaps to his feet, letting magic spark on the verge of a change, and his bones shiver underneath his skin. The world sharpens in a rush, his teeth lengthening, fingernails curving into claws, and he twists away from another lunge, leaps up and kicks off the brick to flip over a sweep of long, dark hair, and lands on palms that are already as rough as pads before he vaults out of the way—

“Kittycat!” a cheerful voice cries, and a deceptively delicate hand catches his elbow, pulls him upright even as his opponent stops short with a snarl.

“Kushina—!” the woman protests sharply, eyes bloody crimson in the darkness. “He’s—!”

“A friend,” Kushina says firmly, stepping around Genma's side and offering him a grin. “That’s a good look on you, you know,” she teases. “Is Minato into the cat thing?”

Genma snorts, letting the magic recede back into his bones, and when he can speak without feline teeth in the way, he gives her an amused smile in return. “I've got a hard enough time getting him to experiment as it is. Think I’ll save the bedroom shapeshifting for when he’s feeling a little more adventurous.”

“Or tipsy,” Kushina points out wickedly. “Get a few drinks in him and Minato's a beast in the sack.”

With a laugh, Genma steps away, giving the other woman a polite nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kushina winks at him, then throws herself forward, slamming into the vampire and knocking her back a step. “Mikoto, don’t give me that look! Genma's sweet, like a housecat.”

There's a long pause, but finally Mikoto huffs, curving a hand around the back of Kushina's head in a fond touch. “Somehow,” she says dryly, “those teeth looked _slightly_ bigger than a housecat’s.”

“Same genus,” Kushina counters cheekily, and when Mikoto rolls her eyes at her she just laughs. With a flourish, she turns, linking elbows with Mikoto, and smiles at Genma. “You haven’t met, right? Genma, this is Mikoto Uchiha, my girlfriend. Mikoto, this is Genma Shiranui, who was sweet enough to adopt Minato after I dumped him.”

Dark brows rise, and Mikoto looks him over from head to toe. “Your Hunter ex-boyfriend took up with a shapeshifter?” she asks dryly. “That’s progressive of him.”

“I think _dumped_ is a harsh word,” Genma tells her. “Wasn’t it mutual?”

Kushina waves that off. “It sounds more dramatic that way,” she says breezily, though her grin is sharp. She looks Genma over, too, but there's a thread of concern in her eyes. “You're doing all right? No more losing control?”

“Not even on full moons,” Genma confirms. “You helped a lot.” He takes another glance at Mikoto, and now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness he can pick out half-healed scars wherever her skin is visible, the rawness of new skin from what must have been serious wounds. Her expression is fierce, though, and she tips her chin up to meet his gaze, a haughty challenge for him to say anything about it.

Genma's not that dumb. He just smiles, shifting back to lean against the wall, and lets one brow rise as his gaze slides to Kushina. “So, you have a reason for starting a supernatural war?”

“Madara's a dick,” is Kushina's decisive answer, and Mikoto snorts, a smirk pulling at one corner of her mouth. Genma's never really thought of it as an attractive expression, but she definitely makes it look good.

Still, Kushina's answer is both entirely expected and wholly unhelpful, and Genma rolls his eyes at her to make sure she knows that. “Yeah, I got that part. But you usually punch anyone you think is a dick in the teeth, you don’t start a fight where innocent people could get caught in the crossfire. What's this _really_ about, Kushina?”

“You always were a smart one, kittycat,” Kushina says lightly, but purple eyes catch and hold Genma's without wavering. “Better for me to start a fight now and keep it controlled than to wait for Madara to throw his whole clan into war with the city, you know? And this way, even if I can't stop him in time, the Hunters are already mobilizing.”

A chill slides down Genma's spine, and his breath catches. He tries not to let the sudden tension show, but it’s probably a lost cause, because _fuck_. “War,” he repeats, and it’s not that he doubts Kushina, because she’s the most powerful of the Nine, and vicious and cunning on top of that. But—a war against any part of the magical side of the city is _insane_. There would be no way to keep it contained, to limit the damage. It’s already hard enough to keep a couple of shapeshifter and witches brawling from ending up destroying whole city blocks; Konoha won't survive an all-out war.

“Let me take this to Jiraiya,” he says. “Or even Sarutobi. We can make a plan, we can _help_ —”

“Hunters? Help _us_?” Mikoto laughs, but there isn’t a trace of humor in it, and her eyes are hard. “We don’t need it. I'm going to drag Madara off his throne and crush him, and you’ll just get in my way.”

Kushina hums in agreement, leaning into Mikoto's side. “We’re only missing one piece right now, and I'm already working on that,” she says. “We’re doing fine, Genma, don’t worry. Why don’t you go home and make sure Minato isn’t pulling his hair out? This is going to be over within the week.”

Genma pauses, staring at her. “If we’re your contingency for cleaning up the fallout, I think you owe us more than that, Kushina,” he says mildly, doesn’t make it a challenge, keeps all possibilities of accusation out of his tone. The very last thing he wants is to make Kushina angry. “You know we’ll put our lives on the line without hesitation to keep Konoha safe, but if we’re going to win we need to know the stakes.”

Mikoto huffs, but Kushina bites her lip, glancing from Mikoto to Genma and back. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she waves a hand in surrender and says, “Fine, fine. Ever heard of Tōka Senju?”

Genma winces, because he has. She’s what teachers use to scare trainee Hunters before their first vampire hunts. “She started the Senju clan, first vampire in their line. Has some kind of spirit blood, and when she was turned it came out. Stone-cold terrifying, had flee on sight orders attached to her file for as long as she lived in Konoha.”

Kushina laughs. “That’s her! Once she became a vampire, she turned the rest of her family, starting with her younger cousin, Hashirama. Then Hashirama turned his little brother, and _their_ spirit blood came out. Hashirama’s even stronger than Tōka, and he’s got a direct connection to the earth that would put most dryads to shame. It meant he would always beat Madara, when they fought, no matter what.”

“Right up until it didn’t,” Mikoto cuts in flatly. “Madara went out one night and brought a new Child back with him, and told us he’d picked a consort. Everything was fine for half a year, but then something happened. The consort disappeared, and Madara wouldn’t say what had happened to him. One of his eldest Children, Kagami, tried to protest, because that’s not how things are supposed to _work_ in a clan. But Kagami disappeared, too, and Madara challenged Hashirama for control of Konoha and _won_.” She and Kushina share a glance, like they're debating how much to say, and with faint reluctance she adds, “A few months later Madara dragged Obito out of wherever he’d been keeping him, but…Madara started only taking blood from Obito, and not letting Obito feed anywhere near as much as he should have.”

Genma frowns a little, turning that over. “I thought new vampires went nuts if they couldn’t feed,” he says. “This the same consort Madara has right now?”

Tipping her head in a brief nod, Mikoto laces her fingers through Kushina's, and Genma very carefully doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even give the gesture a second look, but he knows a search for comfort when he sees it. And if a vampire like Mikoto is unnerved, he’s willing to bet there's a hell of a lot more to the story than they're saying.

“He should have died,” she says bluntly, though Genma's pretty sure the flicker that crosses her face is relief more than anything. “He didn’t, but he _should_ have, by all logic. Just—starved, or gone feral. There has to be a reason, for why that never happened and why Madara suddenly got so much stronger. If we can find Obito, get him out of Madara's reach, I think I can kill our Sire.” Her mouth tightens into a sharp, dangerous slash, but the light in her red-and-black eyes is close to murderous. “At the very least, I have to _try_.”

“Why you?” Genma asks, and when anger flickers across her expression he doesn’t let himself waver, meets those dangerous eyes and trusts that Kushina won't let her spell and eat him. “I get that Madara's bad news, and that he’s strong. But why you in particular? You're not one of the oldest, and it doesn’t sound like you’re all that close to the consort, so you're not doing it for him.”

Mikoto rolls her eyes. “Because I'm _willing_ to,” she says tartly. “Fugaku and the others might be content to let Madara gather up power and get ready to wipe out the Senju, but I'm not. I didn’t want to end up vanishing like Kagami if I said anything, though, so I left the court. We’re going to take out as many of Madara's allies as we can to weaken him, and then I'm going to use the Codex against him, the same way he did against Hashirama.”

Genma blinks, replays that sentence over in his head to make sure he heard it correctly, and says as blandly as he can manage, “You're going to use the ancient vampire law code against Madara. To what, crush him in his sleep?”

“I was a _lawyer_ before he turned me,” Mikoto informs him, unamused. “What did he expect would happen, keeping a copy of the Codex lying around? I found a loophole that will let me challenge him for his consort, and if I win, I get his position _and_ whatever ties he has to Obito. It’s one of the only ways a Child can make their Sire face them in single combat, and with Kushina giving me blood and Obito out of Madara's reach, it means I’ll have every chance to win.”

It sounds insane, at least to Genma, but he looks from Kushina's smug smile to Mikoto's fiery determination, and…well. He’s not dumb enough to lay odds against a pair this powerful and resolute.

“I hope you know you're going to make Minato cry,” he tells Kushina mildly, and she laughs.

“it’s not like it’s the first time. Pretty boy can handle a bit of stress,” she says dismissively, and then gives Genma a sly smile. “He’s got you for stress relief now, right?”

Genma snorts. “He’s got more than enough stress already,” he counters. “Kakashi and Aoba disappeared outside of Madara's nest, and no one can find them anywhere. He’s already pulling his hair out. I was actually going to ask you for a tracking spell.”

Kushina frowns, rocking forward on her toes. “I can do a tracking spell, but the better one to ask would be Orochimaru. He’s got Sakumo with him, and blood tracking can bypass pretty much any wards. You’ll need that if Madara's got him in the nest. Even I have trouble with those.”

Damn. Genma was hoping he _didn’t_ have to pass on news of Kakashi’s disappearance to the Deathless and one of the strongest werewolves he’s ever met. With a grimace, he nods in acceptance, trying to think of a way to phrase it that won't get his soul sucked out of his body. “All right, thanks. I’ll talk to them.”

Chuckling a little, Kushina takes two steps to stand in front of him, then rises up on her toes and kisses him on the forehead. “We’re going to start moving as soon as the sun is down,” she warns, and Genma presses a hand to the spot where her lips were, feeling it tingle like electricity. He’s not unfamiliar with magic, and gives her a questioning lift of his brows, curious what she just did. All he gets in answer is a sly smile, and rolls his eyes. Vessel of a fox-god indeed.

“I’ll spread the word so the Hunters know to keep back,” he agrees. “Minato might not like it, though.”

Kushina just grins, clearly unbothered. “Then send him to me. _Or_ you can distract him for me. Give him a striptease and then make like a cowboy. Or would that be a cowgirl?” She tips her head, considering, and then shrugs. “Oh well. As long as you ride him into the sunset I don’t think it matters.”

“I have no idea how Minato ever survived you,” Genma tells her, but he’s grinning, too.

“I don’t know how _anyone_ survives her,” Mikoto says dryly, but her dark eyes are warm when they fall on Kushina. “She’s a force of nature.”

“Is that why I always make you scream?” Kushina asks wickedly, and Mikoto flushes pink.

“Kushina!” she hisses, and Genma slips out from under the bridge to the sound of Kushina's bright laughter.

Mikoto's definitely not wrong, though, he reflects, glancing back at the spelled darkness. Kushina is a force of nature unlike anything else, and if she’s aiming for Madara and his allies, the Hunters need to be prepared to do damage control.

There's no time to waste. He ducks into the trees and strips off his clothes, then calls up the magic that sleeps in his bones. The shift is a tearing, twisting ache that crashes headlong into adrenaline as he hits the ground on all fours, world gone stark and sharp to his senses, and he throws himself forward into a mountain lion’s ground-eating, loping run, heading for the safehouse where Minato is coordinating teams.

Madara's kept his consort one hell of a secret these last fifty years. The Hunters only just found out he existed, and by Mikoto's words Madara has only been feeding off of him, has kept him incredibly close. Genma's not the tactical genius Minato is, but that seems like a pretty clear sign to him. The consort is a vulnerable point, a weakness. An opening.

Everything that’s happening, everything that _has_ happened since Madara pushed the Senju out, it’s all connected—and the threads lead right back to Obito.

 

 

Kushina waits until every trace of Genma's magic has faded into the distance, then casts a sideways glance at Mikoto. “You didn’t tell him the Senju were already in the nest,” she says.

“Neither did you,” Mikoto retorts, still faintly flushed. “Isn’t he _your_ ex’s boyfriend?”

“I got distracted by the image of him riding Minato,” Kushina says cheerfully, which is only about a quarter true. “He’s cute, though, isn’t he?”

That, at least, makes Mikoto snort, and there's a smile pulling at her lips. “I’ve always been a cat person,” she agrees, casting one last look after him. Then she turns away, long hair flaring out behind her, and strides towards the far end of the tunnel with a wave. Light sparks golden around her fingertips, borrowed magic flowing up around her for a moment before it recedes again, and the view of the park beyond fades to be replaced with a dark cavern lit by orbs of colored fire. Kushina takes a moment to admire the sway of Mikoto's hips beneath her long coat and then follows. The doorway ripples as she passes through it, sliding back to invisibility a beat later, and with a touch of will light rises through the cavern like the sun coming up.

“You’re a showoff,” Mikoto says over her shoulder, but if she’s trying to sound accusing, she should get rid of the fondness in her tone first.

“You love me anyway,” Kushina retorts, and kicks off her boots to step barefoot onto the smooth stone. It’s warm under her toes, and she smiles, twirling through the steps of an impromptu dance as she crosses the floor. It gets a flare of amusement from deep inside of her, and she laughs out loud, poking Kurama with a metaphorical finger. He’s so grumpy all the time that any humor from him is an achievement, and she’s not about to let it pass unremarked. That earns her a disgruntled huff in return, but nowhere near as sharp as it could be; Kurama likes dancing, even if he’ll never actually admit it, the grouchy old jerk.

A hand catches hers as she comes out of a spin, and Mikoto pulls her close, letting go only to wrap both arms around her waist. Kushina giggles, and Mikoto takes three graceful steps alongside her before she turns, and Kushina plants a foot as Mikoto dips her. Long hair falls around her, black as a raven’s wing, and warm lips find her own.

With a happy hum, Kushina deepens the kiss, tips her head back and tries not to smile enough to break the touch. Mikoto nips at her lower lip, a scrape of sharp fangs that makes Kushina's breath catch, and then pulls back, and the stunned, hungry expression on her face is everything Kushina could have ever wanted.


	23. Like water bubbling from a silver jar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give a massive thanks to everyone who's read and commented! It's wonderful that everyone is enjoying this shitty vampire AU. 
> 
> That said, I would like to ask people not to push for updates. It's a little frustrating when people scream at me for more when I already update every few days. Thank you!

“Well, hello, gorgeous,” Kushina teases, and it makes Mikoto laugh. A hand slides up Kushina's back, through her bright hair, and Mikoto finds her mouth again, three quick, teasing kisses in succession.

“Hello yourself,” Mikoto answers, and pulls back, settling Kushina back on her feet with a smile. Kushina doesn’t allow her to let go, slides her hands down to twine their fingers together and pulls Mikoto the handful of paces to the center of the cave. A second before she runs up against marble, Mikoto catches her, tugs her to the side in a spinning step and wraps an arm around her waist.

They're a bare breath from each other, pressed so close Kushina can feel the pulse of magic, soft and steady, through Mikoto's veins. She grins at Mikoto, halfway to a challenge, and asks, “So, did you sleep well?”

Mikoto snorts, but leans in and kisses her again. “I would have slept better if you were there when I woke up,” she answers, and there's a heat in her gaze that makes Kushina grin languidly. “I'm pretty sure future Master vampires aren’t supposed to wake up in cold beds.”

With a hum, Kushina tilts her head like she’s considering things. “Is that what a consort is for? You know, in light of that, I'm not sure I like this idea of you claiming Obito. A girl might get jealous.”

“The direct vessel of Kurama, god of destruction and fire? _Jealous_?” Mikoto scoffs, but the pull of her smile is bittersweet. “After fifty years, the _last_ thing Obito needs is to be tied to another Master. As soon as I tear Madara's dick off and make him eat it, I'm setting Obito free.”

Kushina approves, and only partly because Obito was the one to send her straight to Mikoto. “Good. I’ve got a debt to pay back, you know?”

“Of course,” Mikoto says, amused. “Heaven forbid I keep you from managing it.” A pause, and then with a wicked edge she asks, “So, did they notice that the keystone is gone yet?”

Kushina snickers. “Not yet. When my aunt tries to take the wards down she’ll be in for a big surprise.”

Satisfaction flickers across Mikoto's face, touched with victory, and she’s never been more gorgeous, burning-bright and with an edge of fangs behind her smile. “You're a _genius_ ,” she says, and punctuates it with another kiss. Hands slide down, slow and teasing, to curl around Kushina's thighs, and Kushina laughs. She loops her arms around Mikoto's neck and jumps, and Mikoto picks her up off the floor, braces her there as Kushina locks her knees at Mikoto's waist and pushes up so she’s kneeling in Mikoto's hold.

“And you call me the showoff,” she teases, and Mikoto gives her the sly, wicked smile Kushina loves so much.

“Vampire strength is good for something,” she counters, tipping her head up for a kiss, and Kushina gives it to her gladly, humming in pleasure as Mikoto's tongue tangles with hers.

“Watching you move two tonnes of marble with only a small spell to help you was pretty damn sexy,” she agrees. “And we got the keystone away from Madara and hidden somewhere he’ll never look.”

Mikoto's laugh is like silk against her skin, warm and soft and dark. “Have you ever thought about ruling the world?” she asks slyly. “Because between the two of us—”

“I am _right here,_ oh my god,” a plaintive voice cuts in. “You're in love and it’s beautiful and I'm very happy for you both, but could you _please_ let me go?”

With a roll of her eyes, Kushina lifts her head to give their prisoner a pointed look. “Pipe down, Winter Soldier. This isn’t forever.”

“Why do you keep _calling me that_?” Kagami demands, irritated. He lifts his wrists, rattling the cuffs around them at her. “If that’s a reference, I've told you before, I don’t get it.”

“What a shock,” Mikoto says dryly. “You're lucky you're the keystone, you know. Anyone else we would have left asleep.” She hitches Kushina up a little higher and heads for their room with steady steps, ignoring Kagami's protest.

Leaning over her shoulder, Kushina waves cheerfully, even as she sends a thread of magic to reinforce the spacious cell Kagami is currently occupying. “Don’t worry, we’ll undo whatever spells Madara placed on you soon,” she offers, only to suck in a startled breath when Mikoto's hands slide a touch higher. “Or soon-ish, I mean, that’s the fun of a flexible timetable, right?”

“The timetable isn’t the only thing that’s flexible,” Mikoto murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear, and kicks the door shut behind them as Kushina laughs.

Back in his cell, Kagami groans, dropping his head back against the wall. “Why me?” he asks the orb of witchfire that dips curiously close. “Tobirama had better be looking for me or I'm going to _cry_.”

 

 

Kakashi has several ideas about what to do in this situation, but all of them are fairly bad.

Very carefully, he doesn’t make a point of watching Aoba lead Kisame out of the room, the pair of them headed up to the rooftop to feed the rest of the crows. Obito is still standing in the middle of the rug, expression tight, arms folded in a way that _almost_ manages to look like he doesn’t have them wrapped around himself. It hurts, a little, looking at him, because if there were any way at all for Kakashi to just—fix _everything_ for him he would do it in a heartbeat, no matter the cost.

Gently nudging Ūhei aside, he touches Obito's arm, curls his fingers around his elbow as a dark eye snaps up to look at him. There's no fear in Obito's face, just deep disquiet, and Kakashi smiles at him, eyes crinkling.

“Back to bed,” he says cheerfully. “We have an excuse to cuddle until the sun’s down, don’t you want to take it?”

Obito makes a face, but tellingly starts moving on his own before Kakashi can even put pressure on his arm. “You're way too fucking attached to the idea of cuddling,” he complains.

Kakashi kicks the door shut behind them, because he’s very glad his dogs have taken to Obito so well but this isn’t the kind of thing he wants an audience for, even the canine kind. “It’s not my fault you're the perfect size for it,” he points out blithely, ignoring the narrowing of Obito's eye. He steps over the kick that would have hit him in the shins, wraps an arm around Obito's waist, and lets them overbalance, dragging Obito down onto the bed.

With a startled squawk, Obito lands right on top of him. One of his knees hits Kakashi in the thigh hard enough that he can't hide a wince, but after a moment of untangling Obito pushes up, sitting on his hips and looking down at him with exasperation. Kakashi just smiles in return, letting his hands fall to rest on Obito's hips. The bare skin above the waist of his pants is just still a little too warm to the touch, and he drags his thumbs over it in light circles, looking up.

Obito is beautiful in the half-light, messy hair and dark eye and scars that catch the shadows in strange ways. Not a soft kind of beauty, or even a kind one, but—wild, almost. Like Kakashi is taking his life in his own hands every time he touches him, and it’s not wholly correct, but Obito is a dangerous thing. Kakashi didn’t need to know he escaped Madara _and_ Hashirama to understand that.

“You're being awfully quiet down there,” Obito says dryly, tilting forward to brace his hands on Kakashi’s ribs. It’s a light touch, like Obito is afraid to hurt him, and it makes Kakashi want to urge him on, to pull Obito down and in and tell him to let go, that Kakashi can take anything at all and will do it happily.

“Thinking,” Kakashi says lightly, and this is the dangerous part. There's nothing in him that wants to drive Obito away, or push him to do something he doesn’t want to, but—

What he said to his father and Orochimaru yesterday morning is still absolutely true. He doesn’t care if Obito hates him as long as he’s free, _safe_ , and Kakashi is almost startled by the depths he’s willing to sink to in order to make sure of that.

Almost, but not quite. Less than a week of knowing Obito, but Kakashi can already say he’s worth everything Kakashi is willing to do for him and more.

Obito hesitates, but leans down, fingers curling in the blanket by Kakashi’s shoulder, and touches his lips to Kakashi’s. It’s quick and glancing, hardly a kiss at all, but it still manages to make Kakashi’s breath catch, his hands tighten on Obito's skin. When Obito pulls back, there's a faint smile curving his mouth, and—

Happiness looks good on him, even the fleeting kind. Kakashi smiles back, slides his hands up just to be touching more skin, and breathes out.

 _Bad idea_ , he tells himself, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still the best one he has.

He lets go, drops his hands to Obito's knees so that he’s not holding him down in any way, and holds Obito's gaze as he asks, “Is there any way to convince you to bite me?”

Obito instantly goes stiff, contained panic flashing over his face for half a heartbeat before it’s completely buried, and he jerks away, ready to slide off of Kakashi and—

“Please don’t,” Kakashi says softly. “Please don’t leave.”

For a moment he thinks Obito is going to leave anyway. He’s hesitating, halfway onto the bed, and he flicks a quick glance at the door before he swallows, takes a deliberate breath, and settles back onto Kakashi’s hips.

The relief is enough to make Kakashi breathless for a moment, heart thumping in his chest the way it never does on hunts. He can't help but reach up despite his earlier decision to give Obito as much room as possible, and with a sound that could be exasperation or fear or regret Obito catches his hand, twists their fingers together and presses them to his scarred chest.

“You don’t—” He stops short, struggling with words, and then closes his eye, mouth pulling tight. “You don’t _understand_ ,” he says, like it hurts to even utter those words.

Kakashi is hardly the best with this kind of thing. Aoba can run circles around him in an argument when he puts his mind to it, and Kakashi’s never really needed to get better with communication or debates or anything of the like—all of his genius goes to immediate things, like battle tactics and remembering weak points and finding openings. He’s never really regretted it before, but he feels a flicker of that now.

Still, he has to _try_.

“Can you help me understand, then?” he asks, keeps it even rather than challenging because he really _does_ want to know why the idea is so terrible, beyond Madara's obvious influence. “If someone I cared about got hurt, and needed blood, I’d donate it. Tell me why this is any different. I care about you, and you need blood, and I can spare some.”

Obito's eye widens, and he stares down at Kakashi for a long moment, like it’s a _revelation_ that Kakashi is gone on this idiot. Like it’s such a surprise when his father and Orochimaru and even _Aoba_ can tell at a glance. But Kakashi can see his throat work as he swallows, can see something twist through his gaze and settle in deep, and Obito ducks his head to hide his face.

“Have you ever been bitten by a vampire?” he asks.

“No,” Kakashi admits. “Usually by the time they're in biting range I've already staked them.”

That, at least, gets a shadow of a smile, and Kakashi is thankful yet again that Obito doesn’t seem to care that he’s a Hunter who makes his living chasing after creatures like Obito. Though it’s likely also a bad sign—Obito's been so abused by his own kind that he doesn’t care Kakashi kills them, and _gods_ but Kakashi has never wanted to destroy anything or anyone more than Madara, up to and including the sorcerer who cursed his father. Sakumo is fine, after all, even happy, while Obito is still very much not.

Obito's fingers tighten around Kakashi’s, and Kakashi presses into the touch, slides his hand over just enough to feel the metronome beat of Obito's heart, a perfect expression of the magic curling through his veins and keeping him animated. For a moment Obito looks down at their hands, Kakashi’s long fingers against his scarred ones, and then he says, “It’s not—just the blood. Otherwise vampires would just raid blood-banks and get everything we need that way. When we bite, it’s…feeding. We take something more than just blood. I can't—” He breaks off, looking frustrated. “Sex makes it easier. That’s _sharing_. But I'm still taking something from you, and too much _hurts_.”

Kakashi doesn’t bother asking how many times Madara's taken too much. He gets the feeling it’s far more common than not. “Are you worried about being able to control yourself?” he asks, because Aoba said _starving to death_ and it makes everything inside of Kakashi sharp and angry. Obito looks thinner than he should be, given the breadth of his shoulders, and there are ribs far too close to the surface of his skin for Kakashi’s comfort. If he’s been living on the edge of starvation…

Kakashi’s met young vampires, abandoned by their Sires or left alone by chance, and without enough blood he’s absolutely willing to call them monsters, mindless in the face of the hunger. One taste of blood, or even just the smell of it, turned them into something else entirely, and if Obito is worried about that, Kakashi won't be able to do much to help him.

But Obito looks offended at the suggestion, not grim. He gives Kakashi a glare, all bristling indignation like a cat evicted from its patch of sun, and snaps, “I’ve _never_ lost control, bastard! And I definitely wouldn’t do it _now_!”

Which is…surprising, honestly. Most vampires lose control at least once when they're new—it’s one of the reasons Hunters tend to stake young vampires on sight, and why their Sires usually keep them tucked away in nests and thoroughly protected. Though Kakashi likely should just accept already that nothing about Obito is ever going to be standard and adjust his reactions accordingly.

“Then why?” he asks, holding Obito's gaze.

Obito makes a sound of pure frustration, gripping Kakashi’s hand tightly, though he still doesn’t try to get away. “Because I don’t want to _hurt you_!” he says loudly, like it’s a challenge, and the glare he’s wearing is sharp-edged and full of an old darkness. “If I bite you, I'm just as bad as Madara!”

And that, Kakashi thinks grimly, is everything Obito believes about being a vampire, wrapped up in six little words. _I'm just as bad as Madara_. Gods, no one has _ever_ told him that he isn’t, that Madara is the worst of everything and Obito is the best.

“Would Madara jump in front of a vampire aiming to kill him, just to protect a dog?” he asks, and the tone is light but the sentiment behind the words is heavy with every ounce of Kakashi’s conviction. “Would Madara have let a Hunter who didn’t know what he was kiss him, and then just walked away? Would he have worried, or tried to get to me, or saved Ūhei _again_?” He doesn’t give Obito a chance to protest, but presses his fingers over the beat of his heart and says, “Obito, you won't hurt me. I _believe_ that.”

For an endless stretch of minutes, Obito stares down at him, mouth tight, expression only pained. Then, finally, he closes his eye and smiles wryly. “I think you believe in me a hell of a lot more than I believe in myself,” he says, and Kakashi snorts.

“That,” he drawls, “is not a surprise.” When Obito's knee thumps lightly against his ribs, he huffs. “Don’t be rude to your allies, I'm being noble here.”

“You're being a dick,” Obito retorts, but he’s smiling. “I told you I didn’t want to bite you.”

Kakashi hums lightly, slides his free hand up Obito's side and then back down to grip his thigh, and gods, Kakashi has never realized he has a thing for leather pants, but they _cling_. _Perfectly_. It’s just not fair. “You said sex made it easier. Maybe I'm just trying to get in your pants again.”

Obito snorts, but he leans down, folds forward until his lips are a bare centimeter above Kakashi’s. “What,” he says, and it’s low and dark and husky. “You want me to ride you? Is that what this is about?” He rocks back, and Kakashi can't help the sharp, hungry noise that’s dragged from his throat. He presses his hips up, and Obito rides the movement easily, muscles cording under Kakashi’s grip.

Kakashi wants those thighs wrapped around his _face_ , hells. He squeezes, strokes, and Obito makes an appreciative noise, watching him with a heavy-lidded gaze. It drags Kakashi’s mind back to his question, and he has to swallow at the image it brings, because he wants it _desperately_ , but he hasn’t forgotten what this is about.

“If you’re willing to bite me,” he says, and when Obito's face starts to shutter he squeezes his fingers gently, just enough to get his attention. “You're still feeling off. I don’t want to have sex with you when you're sick and feverish. That’s not the point.”

The fact that Obito looks _surprised_ by the explanation just makes Kakashi want to kill Madara even more slowly. He hesitates, watching Kakashi carefully, and then says, “You're not going to tell me to have sex with Kisame just so I’ll bite him, too, right?”

The victory of that phrasing is swamped by Kakashi’s horror at the implications. He tenses without quite meaning to, has to swallow before he can get his voice to come out as anything but a furious snarl. “You—did Madara—?”

If anything, Obito just looks _amused_. “What, did he whore me out? No, Madara's a possessive jackass. He couldn’t even handle me looking at other people, let alone sleeping with them.”

Like that makes it _better_ , Kakashi thinks, not quite brave enough to un-grit his teeth yet for fear of what might come out. A careful breath, and he loosens his grip, tells himself he can dream about staking Madara later, and glances up at Obito. “I would do,” he says precisely, “a hell of a lot more than just giving you blood, if it meant it would keep you safe.”

Obito's expression twists, somewhere between tears and humor. “Sap,” he says, but it’s rough, and he kisses Kakashi deeply, tangles their tongues and slides their lips together, tilting Kakashi’s head back as he tightens his legs around him. Kakashi groans, pushing up into it, and abandons his grip on Obito's leg to get his fingers in that soft, wild hair.

A flicker of tongue over his lower lip, light and teasing, and Obito pulls back. He wavers for a moment, clearly torn, and then looks down at Kakashi like he’s trying to read the world’s secrets in his face.

Finally, he smiles, and if the first second is rueful it quickly slides into something closer to teasing. Detangling their fingers, he leans in again, bracing both of his hands on the mattress on either side of Kakashi’s head. A quick, off-center kiss, and he catches Kakashi’s lip between gentle teeth, just the barest press of fangs. Kakashi only feels them because he knows they're there, but it’s still enough to make his breath tangle in his lungs, his grip on Obito's hair tighten.

“Well?” Obito asks, and he presses his mouth to Kakashi’s jaw, just barely touches it with his teeth, but it still wrings a full-body shiver from Kakashi, pulls a gasp from his mouth. “There are some options, you know. I could ride you like this—” He rocks his hips back again with a low, breathy moan “—or I could suck your cock.”

Kakashi probably whimpers, but he doesn’t have the coherency to tell. He swallows hard, tries not to thrust up into Obito's weight, and tips his head against the pillows, trying to marshal his thoughts. “You need blood,” he manages, and feels a little like he should be given a medal for making that much sense when he has the hottest vampire he’s ever laid eyes on sitting right on top of his cock.

Very, very obviously, Obito rolls his eye. Laying a hand over Kakashi’s throat, he drags a slow, teasing thumb up his jugular, and Kakashi sucks in a hard breath, attention fixed on his full mouth, his pretty red lips. There's a flash of white behind them, lengthening fangs just long enough to show, and it shouldn’t be anywhere near as hot as it is. Kakashi can remember Obito's reaction when he dragged his tongue across them last night, though, the way he cried out into Kakashi’s mouth and shuddered in his arms, and he can just imagine what it will do to Obito to sink them into his skin.

Maybe he should be a little more wary about letting a vampire drink his blood, but it’s _Obito_. Kakashi would happily open a vein to get him to take even a few mouthfuls.

“You’ve got a vein here,” Obito says, and leans down to lay a barely-there kiss over Kakashi’s pounding pulse. Then he lets his hand slide down, across Kakashi’s chest, right over the bulge of his hardening cock with maddening lightness, and traces a finger high up along the inside of his thigh. “And one here. I'm not picky, you know.”

It would be sexier if that didn’t call to mind that Obito is actually, physically _starving_ , and if it didn’t make Kakashi remember the bite on Obito's own thigh, inflamed and still bleeding the last time he saw it. Madara put it there, and it’s easy enough to connect that to the fact that Obito had been with Madara right before the party, to think of Madara holding Obito down and taking from him, and—

Kakashi keeps his head tipped back, his hand in Obito's hair, and hopes his thoughts don’t show on his face.

“Whatever you want,” he says, and it rasps in his throat as it comes out, because gods, Obito hasn’t realized yet but he means every word. “You—what do you want?”

There's a pause, like that wasn’t the answer Obito was expecting, and Kakashi forces himself to think only about here and now before he looks at him. Obito is watching him, a strange tilt to his mouth, but when Kakashi raises a brow at him he just shakes his head, smiling. It’s a pretty smile, warm and amused, and when he kisses Kakashi again his mouth is soft and lingering.

“No preference at all?” he asks against Kakashi’s lips, and pulls back enough to look at him, mouth red and faintly swollen, eye dark, lashes long as they dip against his cheek. _Fuck_ but he’s gorgeous, and Kakashi can't help the way his breath catches, his hands go tighter on him.

There's no way he can make a choice, really. Obito sinking down on his cock, riding him slow and hard until they come, or Obito with that lovely mouth tight around his cock, maybe looking up at Kakashi as he works him over, takes him to pieces—if there's a single person who _could_ pick Kakashi would like to meet them.

“Anything,” Kakashi manages, and holds Obito's heady gaze. “I— _anything_.”

Obito hums, then drops his head, drags his tongue up the line of Kakashi’s sternum, and breathes out. Kakashi shivers at the cool air, and gets a kiss pressed to the spot in apology. “I want you in my mouth,” he says, and skims his mouth down further, tracing the lines of Kakashi’s muscles down to the waistband of his pants. “Objections?”

“Only to the fact that we’re both wearing clothes,” Kakashi gets out, and Obito laughs against his skin.

“I think I can do something about that,” he murmurs, but instead of reaching for the button of Kakashi’s jeans, he presses his mouth there. Kakashi has half an instant to feel bewildered before Obito undoes the button with his _teeth_.

Kakashi whines _desperately_ , hips rocking up. Obito is absolutely going to kill him, but Kakashi will die the happiest Hunter ever.


	24. So soft she sings the envious moon is pale

There's a laugh, right against his skin, and Obito ducks his head, pressing his forehead against Kakashi’s stomach. “You and your oral fixation,” he says, and it’s nothing less than a tease, breathed against Kakashi’s skin like that as clever fingers ease his jeans down. Kakashi rocks up, letting Obito tug them down to his knees, and then sucks in a sharp breath as Obito instantly skims his mouth up the inside of his thigh. There isn’t even a press of teeth, just soft lips, but it sends a wash of prickling awareness right up Kakashi’s spine. A flick of a tongue against the underside of his cock makes him jerk, but Obito has one hand braced on his pants and uses them to hold him down as he ducks in again.

“Fuck,” Kakashi breathes, wants to throw his head back and let the feeling of warm breath on his cock overwhelm him, but he also doesn’t want to look away. Obito casts him a look, quick and almost wicked, and then presses his mouth to Kakashi’s balls in a messy kiss. The jolt of heat makes Kakashi cry out, and he wants to hook his legs around Obito's back, pull him in and get him _closer_ , but he can't get the leverage.

Obito hums, glancing another kiss over Kakashi’s thigh before he tilts his head to lick around the base of Kakashi’s cock. Kakashi shudders, not quite able to catch his breath, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, if Obito likes to be guided or if he’d rather Kakashi didn’t touch. It’s a maddening thought, and he groans, trying not to buck up into Obito's face as he drags his tongue straight up the underside of Kakashi’s cock. Then that hot mouth seals right over the head as Obito hums, and Kakashi can't physically keep from crying out, reaching down to curl a hand around Obito's shoulder. He shudders, and Obito rides the roll of his hips, reaches for Kakashi’s hand, and squeezes his fingers gently.

It takes Kakashi a moment to scrape together enough brain cells to squeeze back, but that simple motion makes Obito hum again, vibrating through Kakashi’s cock and then right up his spine like a live wire. He gasps, bucks, and Obito shifts forward, eye fluttering shut as he takes Kakashi in. There isn’t so much as a moment of hesitation as he takes him all the way to the root, and Kakashi can't do anything but gasp as he slides all the way into Obito's throat, feels the flutter of muscles around his cock. It bolts heat through him, makes him dizzy with the way his head is spinning, and he shakes as he forces himself still.

With a pleased hum that makes Kakashi whimper, Obito pulls back halfway, tongue curling against the underside and wringing a shudder from Kakashi. A long, slow slide forward, careful and teasing, and he holds there for a beat before he lifts his head, free hand stroking down Kakashi’s thigh. Kakashi gasps as he shifts back until only the head is in his mouth, and he sucks lightly, takes Kakashi’s thrust and swallows him again.

Kakashi can hardly even see straight as pleasure shivers up through him, churning low in his gut. It’s worth the effort, though— _Obito_ is worth the effort, mouth red where it’s stretched around the base of Kakashi’s cock, throat working as he swallows. His eye is closed, but Kakashi can't resist the urge to reach down, free hand cupping Obito's cheek. It gets him a sound, light and amused, and dark lashes lift. Obito looks up at him, and Kakashi is practically _gutted_ by the sight of him, eye wet but full of humor and something deeper, something dark and gentle all at once.

He sucks in a breath, the tight, wet heat around his cock like a wave of knife-edged heat crashing through him, and chokes on a cry. Of their own volition, his fingers latch around Obito's shoulder again, tugging desperately, and with a sound of confusion Obito pulls back, Kakashi’s slick cock sliding out of his mouth and making Kakashi whine.

“Kakashi?” he asks, and there's a flicker of something like worry on his face, but the entirety of Kakashi’s attention is caught by the roughness of his voice, the rasp of his throat. He gasps, punched-out and almost wounded, and drags Obito into his arms to kiss him desperately.

Obito makes a startled sound against his mouth, but an instant later he kisses back just as fervently, tongue twisting with Kakashi’s, arms sliding around his neck to hold him close. Kakashi groans, ruts up into the press of their bodies, and Obito laughs, still rough, still _perfect_.

“You want me to ride you that badly?” he asks, right against Kakashi’s lips, and Kakashi whimpers, fingers tightening in Obito's hair.

“Anything,” he manages, and steals another kiss, nipping at those wet lips, slanting a kiss across the corner of Obito's mouth and then licking in, making him moan. “But—close, I want you close, _please_ —”

There's a strange look in Obito's eye when they separate, a thoughtfulness that’s very nearly edged with wariness, but he still leans in, pressing their bodies flush together as he pulls Kakashi’s pants completely off and settles in his lap. Strong thighs wrap around his waist, and Obito rocks his hips forward, grinding their cocks together. Kakashi gasps into his mouth, and Obito laughs a little, breathless and beautiful. He leans in, one arm leaving Kakashi’s neck to reach out towards the first aid kit on the nightstand, and Kakashi obligingly slides back, braces himself against the headboard and drags his hands down the muscles of Obito's back. They're hard, defined, and Kakashi didn’t have _nearly_ enough of a chance to put his mouth on every inch of Obito last time because he still doesn’t know how they taste. It’s a tragedy, clearly, but he’s going to at some point in the very near future, he tells himself. He’ll spread Obito out on his own bed in his own house, get his mouth on absolutely every inch of skin and take Obito apart, give him the best orgasm of his _life_.

“Mm, you really want this, don’t you?” Obito murmurs, right before he kisses Kakashi again. It’s slow and deep, desperate in a different way—for touch, maybe, rather than completion—and Kakashi slips his fingers under the waistband of Obito's pants as he makes a sound of rough agreement.

“I want _you_ ,” he says, and his cock is so hard it aches, but—

He means a hell of a lot more than just like this. Means so much more it’s hard to think about right now.

The noise Obito makes is low and sharp and hungry, and he pushes forward, drags the hard line of his trapped cock across Kakashi’s and makes them both gasp. Kakashi gets the fingers of his other hand in soft black hair, fits his mouth to the curve of Obito's throat as he tips his head back. He doesn’t let his teeth touch skin, tries to avoid the scabbed-over bites scattered across his neck, but Obito still makes a breathy, demanding noise and drags Kakashi’s head closer.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “What the hell are you waiting for? Get your fingers in me.”

Kakashi groans, hand tightening automatically in Obito's hair. He thinks about pausing, about asking Obito if this is what he wants or if he’d rather fuck Kakashi this time around, but Obito is already unlacing his pants, shimmying the tight leather down as he pushes up on his knees. He kisses Kakashi hard, overwhelming enough that Kakashi can hardly focus on the way he slides his pants off his legs and immediately drops back into Kakashi’s lap. He tugs Kakashi’s hand back to his ass, then kisses him again, and this time the press of fangs is obvious, long and sharp as needles. Kakashi catches his breath, flicks his tongue across one, and feels Obito jerk and cry out in his arms like Kakashi just lit up every nerve.

It’s such a satisfying reaction the Kakashi does it again, then once more just for fun, and holds on as Obito gives a desperate cry, practically boneless in his hold.

“Is that a good spot?” he asks innocently, pulling back enough to smile up at Obito. He tries to keep the wickedness from showing, aims for angelic but probably misses the mark by a mile as he rubs the pad of his thumb over the curve of Obito's ass.

Obito's expression is beautifully dazed, and there's a faint flush to his cheeks that would probably be dark red if he had the blood to spare. He trembles under Kakashi’s hands, breath rough and choppy, and with a whine he leans in and kisses Kakashi fiercely, barely remembering to be careful with his fangs. There isn’t even space for a word between each demanding press of mouths, but Kakashi feels him fumbling with something. He catches a trace of the sharpness of Vaseline a moment before slick fingers close around his cock, and he gasps, bucking up into Obito's fist.

With a noise that’s full of smug satisfaction, Obito tips forward to sprawl against Kakashi’s chest, breath hot against his lips. “You asshole,” he says, but Kakashi’s never been insulted so affectionately before. “You just lost fingering privileges for that.”

For a second Kakashi’s brain is too preoccupied with the slow, teasing drag of Obito's fingers to parse the words, but then those fingers are gone, and against his cheek he can feel Obito's breath hitch, then slide out on a breathy moan. His hips twitch against Kakashi’s, and Kakashi has a sudden, wrenchingly vivid flash of the other night, Obito slipping his fingers into himself alongside Kakashi’s tongue. He gasps, pulling Obito in, thrusting up hard to slide their cocks together, and Obito whines, fits his mouth to Kakashi’s in a messy kiss and breathes out a trembling sound that anchors deep in Kakashi’s chest.

“Obito,” Kakashi gets out, and his fingers tighten, hands full of soft skin and softer hair. “Obito, please—I want— _please_ —”

With a groan, Obito touches his cock again, shifts it back between his legs and against his hole. Kakashi has half a second to feel a flash of panic, because he can't have stretched himself at all, and what if Kakashi _hurts him_ , but then there's give. Kakashi’s cock slides into impossibly tight heat, slick and soft and enough to steal every ounce of sense, and he gasps, tries not to buck up as Obito slides down, head falling back, breathy whine pulled from his lips. He shudders, and Kakashi feels it as muscles flutter and clench around him, painfully good.

There's a soft noise, and Obito tips forward, wraps both arms around Kakashi’s neck and buries his face against his throat, hot, trembling breaths skating across the skin. His thighs tighten around Kakashi’s waist as he settles, Kakashi fully buried in him, and it’s overwhelming, the clutch of his body, the press of his skin. Kakashi wraps an arm around his back, strokes fingers through his hair, and tries to remind his lungs to work.

“Are you okay?” he asks, strangled but as clear as he can get out. There's no answer, just a low, sharp noise that makes Kakashi’s chest tight, and he curls his fingers in Obito's hair, splays a hand over his back. “Obito, did I hurt you?”

“No,” Obito says, but there's a tremble in it that makes Kakashi freeze. Obito must feel that, because he turns his head, presses his mouth to the line of Kakashi’s throat. “You didn’t,” he insists. “It’s good. I love how you feel in me.”

Kakashi swallows, fingers tightening, and it takes all the effort he can muster not to thrust up, to let Obito have time to adjust. Carefully, deliberately, he lets his hand slide down Obito's back, across his ribs, over the muscles of his thigh to wrap around his hard cock in a loose grip, and Obito makes a sound that drags out of him like Kakashi pulled it up from deep inside. He rocks forward desperately, then slides back, and Kakashi gasps at the clench of muscles around him, the tightness around his own cock. Obito kisses his throat, rocks into his touch and then back onto his shaft like he can't get enough of either, and Kakashi knows they're just about as close as they can get, pressed together so tightly he can feel Obito's ragged breaths in his chest, but he still tugs Obito in, slides the hand in his hair down to cup the back of his neck.

There's a flicker of sound, bitten-off and buried, and Obito shudders, clamps down on his cock as he slides down. Another shaky breath and he turns his head, looks up at Kakashi, and—

His eye is glowing, bloody scarlet and coal black, and his lower lip is caught between his teeth, ivory fangs stark against flushed red. He looks _hungry_ , and Kakashi has never seen anything hotter in his entire life. With a desperate cry, he thrusts up, drags Obito's mouth right to his throat and gasps, “Please, your mouth— _bite me_ —”

Startlingly, _thankfully_ , Obito doesn’t even try to argue. He presses a messy kiss to Kakashi’s skin, drags his tongue across his jugular, and Kakashi can't help the way his hips buck, the way his cock feels like it goes impossibly harder. Obito gasps, sinks down hard as his muscles clench, and two sharp points skim Kakashi’s skin. There's a pause, a clear hesitation, but Kakashi pulls Obito in tighter, shoves up to drive his cock home, and Obito cries out. He shudders, presses his teeth right against Kakashi’s throat, and _bites_.

Somewhere vague and distant, Kakashi registers pain. Just a pinprick, sharp but quickly gone, washed away under a silvery tide that crashes through him with all the force of an avalanche, knocking the breath right from his lungs. A shift, and then there's a pull, a slow, inexorable unspooling that slides across every nerve in his body and lights it up, sparks underneath his skin in a wash of heat fit to drown. Kakashi shouts, his entire body lurching, muscles winding tight, and it sweeps over him, _through_ him in a perfect wave that leaves darkness behind.

 

 

Kakashi comes awake slowly, drowsy and languid, to a heavy weight resting on his chest, just a little cooler to the touch than he expects. He groans softly, shifting, and feels the weight stir, a breath against his collarbone.

“Mmph,” he gets out, and pries one eye open, then the other.

Obito is looking up at him, quiet and solemn, from where his head is pillowed on Kakashi’s shoulder. One of his arms is twined with Kakashi’s, while his other hand rests on Kakashi’s ribs, fingers stroking lightly across his skin. He doesn’t say anything, but Kakashi can see vulnerability in the slant of his mouth, the uncertain darkness in his eye.

There's a trace of red at one corner of his mouth, and Kakashi reaches up and smooths it away with the pad of his thumb. Obito's mouth tips down, self-recrimination on his face, but before he can pull away Kakashi dips down and kisses him, careful and slow.

“You're so beautiful,” he says, nothing but truth, and traces a touch over the sharp angle of Obito's cheekbone, down the edge of his jaw. Obito really is the prettiest thing Kakashi has ever seen, and even more so now, as the frown slides away to be replaced with the threat of a smile.

“You’re an idiot,” Obito tells him, but he turns into Kakashi’s touch, presses his cheek into the palm of Kakashi’s hand like a friendly cat. Gently, he kisses the heel of Kakashi’s palm, and Kakashi cards his fingers through his hair, then kisses him again. A soft noise that’s entirely humor, and when they separate Obito ducks his head, pressing his brow to Kakashi’s shoulder again. “A _sappy_ idiot,” he clarifies, like Kakashi has ever debated the accusation for even a second.

Kakashi hums. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me.” He ghosts a light touch down Obito's side, feeling the vague warmth of him that’s less than a regular human and much less than the fever, but definitely more than when they met. He shifts again, resettling himself against the headboard, and Obito makes a soft, breathy sound against his skin, body tightening around Kakashi’s soft cock where it’s still buried inside of him. Kakashi’s breath hitches and he goes still, shocks of overstimulation running through him with a sharpness that’s vaguely unpleasant. He rubs Obito's back, tracing muscles, and breathes out carefully.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and Obito tilts his head to look up at him, something close to confusion on his face.

“I feel good,” he says, with a slowness to the words that means he’s trying to pick out Kakashi’s meaning. “Better than I have in a while. You can go again if you want. Give me a few minutes and I’ll get hard again.”

Kakashi has to swallow a groan at that image, fucking Obito like he is right now, slick and soft, watching the pleasure build until he’s hard and gasping. Or maybe pulling out of Obito once he is hard and pulling Obito into him, letting Obito fuck him until they both come again. Rin has charms for that kind of thing, he knows—he’s used them before, with Aoba before he and Gai started dating, and they're amazing, if not something he’d want to indulge in regularly.

Then the reality catches up with him, and he groans again, this time in despair, tipping his head back to thud against the wood. “You're trying to _kill me_ ,” he complains. “I'm _human_ , please take that into account.”

There's a quiet snort against his skin. “Aren’t you the one always trying to convince me you're some kind of miracle Hunter?” Obito asks dryly. His movements are gentle as he shifts back, though, carefully pushes up, and Kakashi makes a sound that’s almost pain as he pulls off. Instantly, Obito leans forward to kiss him soothingly, and Kakashi gets a hand in his hair, rolls them both and pulls Obito underneath him. Obito laughs, looping his arms around Kakashi’s neck, and gods, but Kakashi’s chest feels like someone hollowed it out and replaced all the bone and sinew and flesh with pure sunlight.

“See?” he murmurs, leaning down to touch their noses together in a butterfly kiss. “Not starving yourself is a good thing.”

Obito hesitates, gaze flickering away, and then glances back at Kakashi with a small, wry smile. His fingers sweep across the nape of Kakashi’s neck in lazy passes, and every line of his body is more relaxed than Kakashi has seen him before. “I'm not—it isn’t like that,” he says, and Kakashi has to brace himself, entirely sure that whatever comes out of Obito's mouth next will make him utterly furious and ready to stake Madara. “I don’t _need_ blood constantly—I'm not that hungry, or some kind of ravenous monster, or—”

“No one thinks you are,” Kakashi interrupts, and can't resist the urge to fold down, splaying himself over Obito and burying his face in Obito's neck. Madara's bites are gone, leaving the skin pale and unmarked except for one dark scar, strangely pearlescent in the light. Where Madara bit Obito to turn him, Kakashi knows, and presses his lips to it in a careful kiss. Obito shivers under him, and it makes Kakashi smile and drag his lips up, makes his gently set his teeth to the line of Obito's jaw. It wrings a soft, intent noise from Obito, and Kakashi chuckles to himself, moving up an inch. Apparently Obito doesn’t mind not being the only biter in this relationship.

“I think you're trying to distract me,” Obito gets out, twisting his fingers into Kakashi’s hair.

It’s not a pull, just a touch of pressure, but it makes prickles run down Kakashi’s spine even so. He catches his breath, kisses the corner of Obito's jaw, and asks roughly, “How do you feel about leaving marks?”

There's a pause. One of Obito's hands falls across Kakashi’s throat, right over the spot where he bit Kakashi, and Kakashi turns his head enough to watch Obito lick his lips. His expression isn’t one Kakashi can read, but he doesn’t think it’s heralding anything bad.

“Like, you leaving marks on me?” he asks, not quite cautious, but maybe close to it.

Someday, Kakashi is going to lock Gai and Obito in a room together and make them talk about consent and reciprocation and equality in relationships. Kakashi would do it, but he probably wouldn’t get far before he was overcome with the urge to go and kill something. Mostly Madara. But Gai does it all the time, and surely _he_ could drill it into Obito's head that the last fifty years haven’t been anything even close to healthy.

“Yes,” he agrees, keeps his voice mild through sheer force of will. “And you leaving them on me. Hickies can be fun.”

Obito raises a brow at him, and it’s only mostly disbelieving. “Fun,” he repeats a little dubiously, and reaches up to lay a hand over his own throat.

“You can say no,” Kakashi tells him, even though he keeps his gaze down, focuses on laying kisses across Obito's unscarred shoulder. “I like to bite, and I think I told you that already. But marks are optional.”

The hand in his hair is perfectly still. Kakashi isn’t entirely certain he can even feel Obito breathing. Then, finally, there's a careful swallow, and Obito says, voice wavering slightly, “I don’t—not on my neck.”

“All right,” Kakashi agrees instantly, turning his attention to the angle of Obito's collarbone. Clearly this is something they're going to have to hash out completely at a later date—and gods, but the fact that Kakashi is actually willing to talk about things that are going to delve into _feelings_ should be more than enough evidence of just how fucked he really is—so for now, he keeps the press of his mouth light, focuses on skimming his fingers down Obito's scarred right side.

For a long moment, Obito doesn’t move. Then, with a hard, shaky exhale, he tugs at Kakashi’s hair, urging him up. When Kakashi comes gladly, Obito drags him into a fierce kiss, deep and heady. Kakashi’s breath catches on a groan, and he wraps his arms around Obito, feels the solid strength of him pressed all along Kakashi’s body, the faint metal taste of his mouth that does nothing to deter Kakashi.

“You're feeling okay?” he asks, just barely breaking the kiss enough to get the words out.

Obito blinks, then tips his head, like he’s assessing. “I…am,” he says, like it’s a surprise. Nudging Kakashi off of him a little, he sits up, then turns his hands over, looking at them closely. The tremble that’s been there since the last time they woke up is gone, just like the bites, and Obito frowns faintly, flexing one hand like he’s checking the motion of his wrist.

“I feel…steady,” he says, almost incredulous. He glances up at Kakashi, mouth gone soft with surprise, and adds, “It felt like there were ants under my skin, but it’s stopped.”

Of course he wouldn’t have _said_ anything, Kakashi thinks a little wryly. Not that he’s surprised at this point. He runs a hand over Obito's thigh, squeezes gently at his knee, and pushes up on one elbow. “Aoba should check you over again,” he says, because Aoba's words still feel loud in his head, clear and obvious and grim.

_What’s going to happen to you when all of Hashirama’s blood has been used up? Maybe the growth stops, but—what if it doesn’t?_

Aoba's been wrong many times before, because supernatural senses or not he’s still human, but Kakashi’s learned not to write his hunches off completely, no matter how many times they fail to play out as expected. If he’s managed to read things correctly this time, if there _is_ a danger of those seeds of magic eating away at Obito from the inside, Kakashi wants all the warning he can get. Orochimaru might not be a sorcerer in the traditional sense, but he’s still one of the most powerful magic-users in the world, and he knows practically everything there is to know about magic. Even if, for some reason Kakashi can't predict, he can't undo whatever Madara did, he likely knows someone who can.

Obito rolls his eye, but tellingly doesn’t protest further. When Kakashi loops an arm around his waist, dropping his head on Obito's thigh, Obito just smooths his fingers through his hair, and says, almost offhand, “Thank you.”

The look on his face gives him away, Kakashi thinks, and turns his head to bury his face in Obito's stomach and hide his smile. “No problem,” he says, and promptly blows a raspberry against Obito's bare skin just to hear him shriek in surprise and offense and then watch him flail as he tries to get away from Kakashi’s octopus-grip.

Kakashi doesn’t let go, though, and Obito doesn’t make him.


	25. That high in heaven she is hung so far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could also be titled 'Stupid Self-Sacrificing Hunters Who Need to Be Yelled At'. So. Fair warning.

Crow chicks look like nothing less than the animated soot balls in some of Aoba's favorite childhood movies, he thinks in amusement, dangling his fingers over Banba’s nest for her chicks to peck at. Banba herself watches with tolerant amusement, perched on the edge of the nest and keeping a close eye on Kisame where he’s sitting against the wall. She hasn’t made any move to go after him yet, though, so Aoba's pretty sure she won't. She’s a lot less feisty than Aveta, who’s still crouched over her chicks and bristling.

“Why crows?” Kisame asks, watching with contained interest.

It’s not like they have anything better to do than talk, given how Kakashi and Obito are occupying themselves downstairs, Aoba thinks with amusement, and he’s glad for both of them, really. They're not even loud, but…it’s a private thing, clearly, and it’s better not to have an audience for that kind of encounter.

“Why not crows?” he counters, tipping one shoulder in a shrug, then reaches out to stroke Banba’s head in thanks. He offers her a piece of jerky from his pocket, and she snatches it up gleefully, scarfing it down. Aveta makes a sound of deep offense, and with a roll of his eyes Aoba offer her the same. She takes it slightly more delicately, and he brushes his fingers off as he steps back from the perches. “They're one of the smartest creatures in the world, and their brain-to-body-mass ratio is second only to, like, chimpanzees, but no one even _notices_ crows. People think of them as pests, and they can get everywhere. Spend a few hours with them and they're already picking up mannerisms, or learning words or commands, and they're loyal as hell, too. Dogs have nothing on crows.”

Kisame chuckles. “You and Hatake probably have differing opinions there,” he says, clearly amused.

Aoba snorts. “Kakashi has his own opinion, and it’s _wrong_ , but it’s still his opinion.” He does one last check of the bowls, making sure they have water, and then wanders over to sit on the ground next to Kisame, back braced against the wall. There's a faint ache in his shoulder, a little too much movement when it’s still vaguely tender, and the bruises on his throat where Tōka caught him are aggravatingly noticeable. She’d known _exactly_ where to grab him to make it hurt, even after only a handful of seconds face-to-face, and Aoba would be impressed if he weren’t so terrified of her.

With a low chuckle, Kisame leans forward a little, bracing his arm against his bent knee. His eyes slide past the crows, over to the doorway, and he asks, “Think they're done yet?”

“Kakashi?” Aoba rolls his eyes. “Sadly, no. The bastard’s got staying power. I’d give them at least another half an hour.”

A pause, and he can feel Kisame's eyes on him, quietly thoughtful. “You used to be a thing?”

“Uh…kind of?” Aoba tips a hand back and forth. “Before Gai I didn’t really do the dating thing, but Kakashi was always up for some no-strings sex. And then after Gai, he didn’t mind fucking while Gai watched, so we’ve done that a lot.”

Another hesitation, and Kisame makes a low, amused sound. “You go for threesomes? That’s fun.”

“It really is.” Aoba flashes him a grin, judges the light level, and then pushes his glasses up into his hair with a breath of relief. “Gai might not like sex, but he likes watching me get wrecked, and I can't say I'm not a fan of that, too. We’re not traditional, maybe, but—I've been a Hunter since I was a kid, and Gai's—well, _Gai_. I don’t think traditional would ever work for either of us.”

There's a shift in the corner of his vision, and then a thumb brushes across one of his scars, sliding up to trace along his cheekbone. When Aoba turns, Kisame is watching him with a buried sort of predatory interest, and it makes Aoba's breath catch. Kisame's laugh rumbles up in his chest, and he asks, “So where do I put in my application?”

Oh _gods_. Aoba's gaze drops involuntarily to Kisame's arms, thick with muscle, and he remembers that vague thought he’d had the first time they met, that Kisame could pick him up with one hand and zero effort. Translate that to the bedroom, and god _damn_ but Aoba is on board with the idea.

He clears his throat roughly, has to work to swallow. “I’ll, uh. I’ll bring it up to Gai, but—he usually says yes.”

Kisame's grin is all teeth, slow and hungry. “Let me know,” he says, and pulls his hand away from Aoba's cheek. Aoba's breath shudders out, and he’s glad Kisame didn’t try to go for a kiss, because he would have had to turn him down until Gai gave the okay, but—the _thought_ of kissing him is all too appealing. Aoba's usually pretty enthusiastic no matter who he falls into bed with, but he’s got a type, that’s for sure. Kisame is it, just as much as Gai is. Big, strong, and sweet hits all of Aoba's buttons at once, and he’s never cared to hide it.

With a loud chatter, a crow with a white neck and belly plummets onto Aoba's arm, claws scraping skin in its haste. A moment later, another pied crow joins it, coming to an abrupt halt on Aoba's shoulder and then almost sliding off before it catches his shirt and drags itself back up. Aoba's too used to their antics to startle, but he can recognize urgency when he sees it, and he’s on his feet in an instant, boosting the crow on his shoulder up to safety and lifting the one on his wrist up to eye level.

“Esus, Taranis,” he says, a little surprised, because the two pied crows are generally steady, and don’t overreact the way the others like to. “What’s wrong?”

Esus, the larger of the two, croaks loudly, then whistles the sign for danger and then something supernatural. A second later Taranis echoes him, and adds the call for stranger. Clear enough; someone they don’t know is in danger, close enough that they decided to get Aoba to fix the problem.

Aoba takes a breath, but—he’s not that hurt, and there's no downtime for Hunters, not really. If he’s able to help, he doesn’t have a choice.

“All right, let’s go.” Aoba shifts Taranis to his free shoulder, then checks that he’s still carrying his wire and heads for the fire escape at a trot. Behind him, he can hear Kisame pushing to his feet, but doesn’t pause beyond a reassuring wave, swinging himself over the wall and leaping down the stairs three at a time until he hits the bottom. The crows take off in a rush, heading for the far end of the street, and Aoba follows with a little more care, watching the play of light carefully as he nears the corner. There's no sound, but he hardly expects it this close to people, when most supernatural creatures who prey on humans know how to subdue their victims without a fuss.

With a flutter of dark wings, Esus comes in to land on someone’s second-story window-box, right at the edge of the building. He peers down, then chitters sharply, once and then again. Two people, then, and Aoba curls the end of the wire around his hand, palms the blade, and—

Kisame's hand knocks his glasses down, half an instant before a burst of blue-white magic would have otherwise blinded him. Aoba yelps, reeling back, because even with protection that was _too fucking bright_ , feels a body surge past him headed for the fight, and whistles desperately for his crows. Taranis caws, rough and close, and a moment later Esus adds his voice, three croaks and a whistle from his left. As soon as he hears it Aoba spins, listening for footsteps, but there aren’t any, just a rush of air as something misses him. Something human-shaped, that smells of black tea and yuzu cut through with something delicate and sweet, and Aoba's other senses beyond sight are good enough for him to remember that clearly, even if he’s only encountered it twice before.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and takes two careful steps away from Tōka Senju, listening for his crows instead of her. A vampire that old won't give herself away, but Taranis and Esus are trained to be his eyes when he needs them to.

Somewhere close, Kisame snarls, and there's a gong-like sound that makes Aoba wince. A heavy thud follows, and then nothing, and he has to swallow, hoping desperately that the man’s not dead.

“Don’t be like that,” Tōka says, light and teasing, and Esus croaks to his left. Aoba turns, listening, hears the faintest whisper of cloth and keeps turning, because she’s circling him like some sort big cat. “We just want to know what you did with the keystone. And _I_ wanted to see if you’d considered my offer.”

Right. Her offer to become a vampire, and not just a vampire but a _Senju_. Aoba winces, takes a step back, and hopes like hell that Kakashi is still thoroughly occupied. If Tōka catches sight of him, or of Obito, all of the effort they put into staying hidden is going to go to waste.

“How the hell did you find us?” he demands.

There's a sound of faint amusement from opposite Tōka, light steps that he can thankfully track without needing Tranis’s help. “I might not be able to see where your crows are landing, but I can see where they gather,” another woman says. The Enchantress’s daughter, probably, because Aoba's luck is fucking _terrible_. “There are more here than anywhere else in the city. We took a chance, and apparently we were right.”

That is—that is really, _unnervingly_ clever. Aoba's had a lot of creatures try to follow him, but they’ve never tracked his crows before. He takes another step back, towards the street, and the spots are finally fading from his eyes but not fast enough to be of any use. “So you acted like you were being attacked to get me out here,” he says, mostly directed at Mito. “Clever.”

“Acted?” Tōka drawls. “Well. I suppose that depends on your interpretation. Mito's the sweetest snack ever.”

Mito makes a sound that’s just a little too amused to be offense. “A snack? Tōka, how could you say that. I'm a main course at the very least.”

The implications are more than a little terrifying. A three hundred year old vampire, feeding on one of the strongest sorceresses in the world? Yeah, that’s enough to make Aoba crawl into a hole and hide for the next century. “Whatever you want, you're wasting your time with me,” he says, and manages to keep it mostly even. “I don’t know anything about a keystone, and I definitely don’t have it.”

Tōka hums, light and disbelieving. “You don’t know _anything_?” she prompts, and there's a thread of silken menace to it. “Madara's tied all of his enchantments to it. Every last curse he’s cast and spell he’s wrought, all bound to a single source. Take apart the keystone and everything comes crashing down.”

Which would be why they were attacking Madara's nest, Aoba thinks, and the realization is like a surge of adrenaline. The anchors Madara left on Obito's soul, the wards, whatever rituals he’s done to steal Obito's power—there's an anchor somewhere. If they can find it, destroy it—

Madara will be the next best thing to powerless, and all of this madness that’s happening right now can be _stopped_.

“I don’t have the keystone,” he says, tries to put every ounce of sincerity he can into his voice. “I don’t even know who does, if Madara's keeping it outside the nest. But we want Madara gone as much as you do—”

Tōka’s scoff is entirely skeptical. “Which would be why you're so chummy with a traitor,” she says lightly, and there's a faint thud like she just kicked Kisame’s boot. “Try again, cutie. Why else would you have been wandering around Madara's woods with his favorite shapeshifter the night the keystone disappeared?”

 _What?_ Aoba falters, because there's obviously an explanation somewhere but he _doesn’t have it_ and that’s not helping anyone’s suspicion here. “Coincidence,” he gets out. “Look, I know how it sounds but we were there for a different reason, I swear.” Except he can't tell them that, either, because Hashirama’s a Senju too and he tried to grab Obito, and Aoba isn’t about to give up a friend.

“And what reason was that?” Tōka asks, and Esus shrieks a warning but by the time it registers her hands are already on Aoba's shoulders, just tight enough to be a threat. She pulls him back against her chest, and Aoba jerks but can't even make her _budge_. He grabs for the blade on the end of his wire, kicks back, but smaller hands catch his, deftly drag the weapon out of his grip and close around his wrists. Aoba yelps, kicks out and flails as Mito presses up against his chest, trapping him between the two women like the terrified filling in a obscenely powerful and dangerous sandwich.

“Fuck you, let _go_!” Aoba snarls, tries to throw himself sideways but can't manage to so much as shift either of them.

Ever so casually, Tōka curls an arm around his throat, skims a thumb over his pounding pulse. “Hmm, I'm not sure I want to. You haven’t given me an answer yet, witch-child, and I’d like one.”

Aoba sets his teeth, tries to gauge how well Esus and Taranis will do if he signals them to attack. Not as well as Matcha and Nemain, probably, who are some of the largest of his crows, or as well as Badb, who’s the fiercest. Still, he has to _try_ , and he twists—

Tōka slaps her hand over his mouth and warns, “None of that, now. Fool me once and all that. You're not getting a free pass to do it again.”

With a chuckle, Mito leans in, touching a finger to his throat, and he yelps at the feel of magic sparking. His blurry eyes can just make out the strands of blue-white light like spiderwebs, spreading out around them and locking his crows on the outside, and Aoba feels a sharp dart of fear and fury mixed, wriggles desperately even though it doesn’t accomplish anything.

“Easy,” Mito says, and it would almost be soothing if she weren’t so _fucking terrifying_. “We want Madara deposed, and nothing more. Surely a Hunter can agree that he’s too dangerous, right? He and his court need to remember that there are checks and balances in this world, and they’ve been ignoring them for far too long.”

The Senju and Uzumaki working together make for a hell of a check, Aoba thinks dazedly, and when Tōka lifts her hand he gets out, “I don’t _know_ anything about a keystone, I _swear_!”

There's a pause, and as Aoba's eyes come into focus again he can see the thoughtful look Mito is wearing as she watches him, the way she actually looks like she believes him. Dark purple eyes flicker up and over his shoulder, meeting Tōka’s, and she tips her head, red hair falling over one delicate shoulder.

“Well,” she says, vaguely dissatisfied. “Plan B, is suppose.”

“More like Plan H, at this point,” Tōka corrects, but she sounds amused even if she’s not loosening her grip. “Cutie, how would you like to make yourself useful for a bit?”

Aoba swallows carefully, flicks a glance at Kisame's still form, sprawled on the sidewalk. His aura flickers with traces of Mito's magic, some kind of sleeping spell, and apparently even if he’s resistant to vampire magic, Mito's is more than enough to take him out.

“What do you want?” he demands, and tries his best not to let the words waver.

Tōka strokes his hair lightly. “Oh, don’t take that tone. I'm not going to eat you. _Or_ turn you without permission, no matter how cute you are. I'm not _Madara_.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can just catch the disgusted wrinkle of her nose, and would laugh if there was any space for humor left through all of the fear. “But those eyes of yours—the Unseelie Court’s been whispering about someone with the Sight, and I'm willing to bet it’s you.”

Fuck. Apparently obliquely threatening to rip out Aoba’s eyes wasn’t enough for Hizashi. He had to go and _spread_ that knowledge around, too. Aoba grimaces, and apparently that’s answer enough, because Mito smiles, sweet and cheerful, and plucks the sunglasses from his face.

“Good,” she says approvingly. “It is. You can see Madara's wards and help us break them, then. I can't see the patterns, but if you get close enough it shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Aoba doesn’t think he’s ever hated his eyes more, and that’s saying something. He swallows, takes another look at Kisame, and then glances at Mito again. “Only if you swear on your blood that neither you nor the Senju will harm another Hunter, or anyone allied with them,” he tells her, holding violet eyes steadily. “You're going to leave them the hell alone and focus on Madara, or I’ll make you kill me before I even _think_ about helping you.”

There's a pause as Mito's brows lift, and she looks somewhere between impressed and amused as she casts another glance at Tōka. “I think that’s acceptable,” she finally agrees. “We don’t touch the Hunters or their allies, and you help us get rid of Madara. On my blood.”

Deep red light sparks, shivers. It winds through Mito's blue-white glow, long binding strands like threads stitching their way into her soul, but even though it has to be uncomfortable her face never changes. Aoba hesitates for another moment, then nods, and Mito steps back to give him room. Her barrier dissolves, and immediately Esus and Taranis swoop down with frantic croaks to settle on Aoba's shoulders, checking him over carefully.

With a chuckle, Tōka unwinds her arm from his neck, looping it around his waist instead as she leans on him. “There we go,” she says cheerfully. “We’re all friendly now, how nice. Now let’s get back to the forest before Madara's court starts waking up.”

Aoba doesn’t protest as she starts steering him towards a sportscar parked a little further down the street, though he does take one last look back at Kisame. He’s safe from the Senju now, and so is Obito, and Aoba doesn’t regret that. Just the fact that he can't leave a message telling them he’s safe. Well. Safe- _ish_.

“He’d try to stop us,” Tōka says, almost gently, apparently reading the look on Aoba's face. “We wouldn’t hurt him now, but I’d like to avoid being put in a position where I might break the agreement by accident. Like I said, you mortals are so fragile.”

Right. Three hundred year old vampire lady is capable of snapping even Kisame like a twig, and that is _really_ not something Aoba needed to be reminded of. He swallows, and before his filter can drag itself to life blurts, “You are honestly the most terrifying thing I have ever encountered, and I can _totally_ understand why you are pretty much the boogeyman of monsters.”

There's a beat of silence, and Aoba has just enough time to pray his death will be swift before Tōka _laughs_. And it sounds utterly _delighted_.

“Stars and stones, you are _adorable_ ,” she says, spinning Aoba towards her and cupping his face between her hands. “Gods, I want you as my Child. If you _ever_ get tired of being breakable, I will turn you in a hot second, sweetheart. I _love_ you.”

Aoba is going to faint, and he feels no shame in it. He gapes at her, and she laughs, leaning in to kiss him soundly on the cheek.

Already sliding into the driver’s seat of the car, Mito makes a sound of amusement. “I see your point, Tōka, but save your convincing for when we’re on the road. His friend is already fighting my sleep spell, and I don’t know how much longer it will hold.”

Tōka snorts, but lets Aoba's face go and instead takes hold of his shoulders, steering him towards the passenger side. “He must be the magical equivalent of Achilles,” she says, vaguely impressed, and all but manhandles Aoba into the narrow backseat. “I hit him with a spell and it just slid right off of him. Impressive for a shapeshifter.”

“He’s giving me a headache, trying to hold him,” Mito counters, and it’s almost a complaint. She tugs off her heeled sandals and tosses them back into Aoba's lap, then starts the engine. It purrs to life, and she smiles with satisfaction. “Tōka, you should call Itama and get him to meet us by the edge of the barrier. I’ll need his help. And maybe Tobirama’s as well, if he’s around.”

Tōka shakes her head, even as she plucks a mobile off the dash. “Yes dear. But Tobirama won't be there—he convinced Hashirama to let him stay in the nest to look for Kagami. And you know Itama's going to be cross with you for interrupting his work on Izuna.”

As they pull out onto the street, already going what Aoba is sure is at least double the posted limit, Mito scoffs lightly. “Well, I certainly can't ask _Kawarama_ to help. A break will be good for him, anyway.”

“I’ll tell him you said so,” Tōka retorts, lazily amused, and casts a glance at Aoba in the rearview mirror. “You might want to shut your eyes, sweetheart. Mito's notice-me-not spells are a little bright from the inside.”

Quickly Aoba slams his eyes shut, hears Mito's throaty laugh and feels the flicker of magic sparking all around them. Esus croaks unhappily, hunkering down against Aoba's neck, and Taranis trills like a mockingbird, his favorite comforting sound to make. Aoba puts a hand up to soothe them, even as he determinedly sinks further into the seat and tries not to think about what Kakashi is going to say about _this_ stupid decision.

Probably nothing compared to the names Aoba is already calling himself, honestly. Even for him, this choice is more than a little reckless.

But really, what choice does he have? This move neutralizes the threat the Senju pose to any Hunters and their allies, and that’s more than enough of a reason to risk it.

 

 

The sound of his cell phone ringing shrilly rouses Kakashi from a pleasant half-drowse, and he reluctantly cracks an eye open, looking towards the nightstand. Obito makes a sleepy, displeased sound when Kakashi shifts enough to sit up, but rather than waking he rolls over, curling into the pillows.

It’s entirely impossible for Kakashi to resist a smile, or the fight the urge to skim a hand down Obito's side, light and lingering. Obito sighs a little, pressing back into it, but the pattern of his easy breathing doesn’t change, and Kakashi doesn’t actually want to wake him, so he slides out of bed without bothering him further. His phone is still ringing, or has started ringing again, which means it’s probably fairly urgent. Urgent enough to make Kakashi scrounge up his pants and the white oxford from the other night, a little worse for wear by now. He pulls them on, then snags his phone and heads into the main room, still empty. Aoba and Kisame are probably up with the crows even now, Kakashi thinks, a little amused, because Aoba can go all day if someone gets him started talking about his birds.

The phone is _still_ ringing, and with a faint sigh he checks the number, only to feel his brows rise. Genma’s persistent, but he isn’t usually _that_ persistent, especially when Kakashi doesn’t answer the first time.

“Genma?” he asks as soon as he accepts the call.

Instead of an answer, there's a cougar’s high-pitched, wild scream, startling enough that he almost drops his phone. “ _Genma_?” he demands, more sharply, and hears a loud clatter, a bang like a gun, a fierce snarl.

And then, over the line, a low laugh. Unmistakable, hateful, derisively amused, and Madara says, “Now now, kitten, that won't do anything. Haven’t you learned yet?”

Kakashi can't move, can't even _breathe_.

There's a scrape, like the phone being picked up off the ground, and Madara hums thoughtfully. “Oh? Were you trying to call for help? Clever of you, but far too late. Well. I suppose they're going to want to know where to find the body.”

Every single cell in Kakashi’s body goes cold, utterly frozen, and his hand tightens until plastic creaks under his fingers. He doesn’t say anything, can't bring himself to, but—

Genma. Genma, devoted and brave and kind, always ready with the right words to help, one of Kakashi’s rocks since he was a child. Genma _dying_ , because of Madara, at Madara's hand, and Kakashi hadn’t thought it was possible for him to hate the man more.

“Not going to beg for your friend’s life?” Madara sounds almost _disappointed_. “Not that it would matter, in the end. I've always wanted a pet cat, but this one’s a little disobedient. A shame.” There's a crackle like fire, a shriek so full of agony that Kakashi thinks he’s going to be sick, and then another laugh. Halfway through, the cry changes pitch, turns _human_ instead of feline, and Genma's scream raises every hair on Kakashi’s skin, twists his stomach into knots.

And then, even more horribly, it cuts off, sharp and sudden.

Into the ringing silence that follows, Madara chuckles. “If you want to collect the remains,” he says, coolly amused, “they're by the river, at the western edge of the city. And let this be a lesson to anyone who consorts with traitors: I have no patience for disloyalty.”

A sharp click, and the call ends. Kakashi is left standing in the middle of the living room, breath rasping through tight lungs and something shuddering just beneath his skin. Something like horror, or fury, or maybe even grief, and he can't force his eyes to focus, can't even _think_.

Madara had Genma, and Madara _killed him_ , and Kakashi had to listen to Genma die. Had to listen to Madara tell him where he left the _remains_ , and there's no way in hell or out of it that Kakashi isn’t going to go and find his friend. Find his _comrade_ , one of the people he’d die to keep safe. Genma is like Aoba, or Gai, or Rin. He’s precious, and Kakashi just listened to his life end.

Nausea shudders through him, and before he can even start to consider the motion he’s grabbing for his sword belt, buckling it around his hips. He shoves his phone into his pocket, grabs his boots, and heads for the door. Aoba and Kisame can keep Obito safe until he gets back. He’ll trust them with that, with staying here and safe. There's somewhere else Kakashi is needed right now.

Kakashi doesn’t leave friends behind, no matter what.


	26. She cannot hear that love-enraptured tune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupid self-sacrificing Hunters take 2. Be warned, there are cliffs about.

He’s going to have to call Minato.

The thought sits like lead in Kakashi’s stomach, almost nauseating, and he has to pull over to the side of the road even though he’s still several miles from the edge of the city. Curling his hands around the steering wheel, he lets his head fall forward to rest against it, and focuses on breathing. Minato and Genma have been together for almost six months already, and—they love each other. Kakashi’s always avoided thinking about it, because they're both as close as family and thinking about Minato's romantic life is akin to thinking about _Kabuto's_ romantic life, but—

But he’s going to have to call Minato and tell him that Genma is dead, and Kakashi doesn’t know if he can.

He breathes, for a moment. Focuses on getting enough air into his lungs, and thinks distantly, clinically that it would probably be smarter to have backup anyway, since Madara might still have allies lurking by the river. Running out of the house without his dogs wasn’t the best plan, but Obito needs to be protected, and between the pack, Aoba, and Kisame, he will be.

Swallowing heavily, he pulls his phone from his pocket and stares at it for a moment, the takes a shaky breath. Aoba first, because Kakashi would do _anything_ to put this conversation off, but Aoba doesn’t answer his brief _following a lead, back soon_. It’s possible he’d pick up if Kakashi called him, but that would require talking, _explanations_ , and Kakashi doesn’t think he can manage more than one repetition of this story without cracking right down the center.

Minato's number is at the very top of his contacts, and Kakashi stares at it for a long, long time before he touches it, stomach twisting itself into knots. The call connects, and he barely has time to raise it to his ear before Minato picks up.

“Kakashi?” His mentor sounds utterly, perfectly relieved. “Oh, thank everything. Kakashi, we’ve been worried sick, where have you _been_? I thought Madara had killed you.”

 _Not me_ , Kakashi tries to say, but the words stick in his throat. “Sorry,” he manages instead. “I—Minato. When was the last time you saw Genma?”

“Genma?” Minato sounds faintly confused, and Kakashi can hear the clatter of dishes in the background. Evening. Right. He’s probably cooking dinner right now, waiting for Genma to come home and join him. But Genma won't, because he’s— “He left about an hour ago to meet with Sakumo and the Deathless, to get a tracking spell. To find _you_. Why, is something wrong?”

Kakashi’s breath shudders out, almost a gasp, and over the line he can hear the sudden absence of other sounds, Minato going still.

“Kakashi?” Minato asks quietly. “What’s happened?”

“Genma's dead,” Kakashi says, and feels like he’ll never manage another word ever again.

There's complete and utter silence on the other end. Then, very quietly, Minato says, “How.”

It’s not a question, has more in common with a threat than anything, directed at the world at large rather than Kakashi in particular. Kakashi forces himself to swallow, forces his throat to work. “I got—got a call from him. But Madara was there. I heard—” He can't even begin to describe it, and can't bring himself to try.

Another long, cold stretch of silence, and Minato takes a breath. “Tell me where you are,” he says evenly.

Kakashi checks the closest street signs, relays the intersection. “I was—Madara said he was going to leave the remains there. By the river.”

“Don’t move, Kakashi. I’ll be there in a moment.” Minato sounds perfectly collected, like he’s in a strategy meeting or reviewing the monthly expense reports, but there's _something_ right beneath the surface that sends a cold bolt of terror down Kakashi’s spine, makes his hindbrain want to cower in the face of something massive and fearsome. “And call your father. He’s been worried.”

The call disconnects with almost jarring abruptness, and Kakashi lifts his head, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Easy to forget, usually, that Minato is so widely feared by the supernatural world at large that they have their own flee on sight orders for him, but—this is one of those moments where it’s easy to remember.

He considers picking up the phone again, calling his father or stepparent and letting them know he’s fine. The effort involved seems herculean, though, and Kakashi can't summon the willpower. Hard enough already to just sit here, _waiting_ , when Genma's body is lying on the riverbank, probably tortured and burned. The thought makes his chest feel impossibly tight, and he coughs like that will help at all to clear his throat.

What he really wants right now is Obito's presence, his voice, his touch. He thinks of leaning into Obito, and even that is comforting. Thinks of his smile, and his kindness, and _wants_ in a way that’s sharp and visceral. Obito doesn’t have a phone, though, likely won't answer Gai's landline if Kakashi tries calling that, and Kakashi can't turn around and go back to him yet. Soon, he tells himself, and lets out a shuddering breath.

There _is_ someone he can inform of his continued wellbeing who won't demand answers, he realizes, and looks down at his phone. It only takes a moment to find their last brief conversation, the final text still unread.

**From: Wednesday Addams**

[Last week]

Please have the sofa delivered by Friday, Jugo plans to spend the weekend here.

Oops. That date’s well past by now, though Kakashi supposes he can claim he thought it was this coming Friday Kabuto meant. Not that the excuse will get him very far, but it’s the effort that counts here. With a wince, he focuses on his own message and hopes Kabuto won't ignore him out of spite.

**From: The Pretty Stepsibling**

[7:18]

Will you tell my father I'm still alive

There’s barely ten seconds’ pause before his pone vibrates.

**From: Wednesday Addams**

[7:18]

I'm going to set a plague of cat skeletons on your apartment.

Knowing Kabuto, that could be because of the nonexistent sofa, irritation at the other interns at the hospital, annoyance at Suigetsu, blanket pique at the world in general, or familial concern, and there's really no telling which. It’s almost enough to make Kakashi smile a bit, because if there's one dependable thing in the world, it’s that his half-brother is utterly terrifying and wholly vindictive.

**From: The Pretty Stepsibling**

[7:19]

My dogs will have fun, at least

Kakashi pauses, staring at the message, and closes his eyes for a moment. He’s been around Orochimaru long enough to know the constraints of a necromancer’s power, especially when it comes to resurrection and not just reanimation, but…

**From: The Pretty Stepsibling**

[7:20]

How fresh does a body have to be for you to call the soul back intact

The minutes tick past as Kakashi waits for an answer, watching the clock change and trying not to count seconds. Then, finally, the buzz comes, and Kabuto's answer lights up the darkened screen.

**From: Wednesday Addams**

[7:24]

Preferably within 5 minutes of death.

[7:24]

But you knew that already.

[7:25]

Should I come anyway?

Kakashi’s next breath is heavy and loud, almost something else entirely, and he has to press his knuckles to his forehead for a long moment to force his eyes to focus. Sometimes it’s just—so strange to think that things have changed so much from when he was a child, when his father was lost. Just—Kakashi at twelve would never have thought he’d have family, let alone a younger brother ready and willing to practically kill himself in the name of saving one of Kakashi’s friends. Because what Kabuto is offering—it might even be beyond Orochimaru’s reach, and Kabuto is still in training, no matter how gifted he is.

But…Kakashi knows enough about necromancy to know that at this point, whatever Kabuto calls back will only have the faintest resemblance to Genma, and trying might be ever worse than just…letting him go.

**From: The Pretty Stepsibling**

[7:26]

No. It’s too late

[7:26]

You should stay inside as much as possible. Avoid the rest of the population

**From: Wednesday Addams**

[7:27]

Utakata told me the same thing yesterday.

[7:27]

Something’s happening?

Kakashi pauses, eyes narrowing. Utakata is one of the Nine, and if he already knows what’s going on, if he already knew before the first attack, maybe the _rest_ of the Nine know as well. They generally keep to themselves, but Kushina is their nominal leader, and if she passed on warnings—

Maybe Rin knew but couldn’t tell him. Or maybe Kushina carefully kept her out of the loop so that the Hunters didn’t know about this planned assault. It’s not inconceivable; Hunters can get captured, or turn traitor, or simply share information with informants or friends, and if Kushina didn’t want the warning getting back to Madara, she probably kept it close.

Kakashi can't help but wonder how much would be different if she’d shared it, though.

**From: The Pretty Stepsibling**

[7:28]

War

[7:28]

Against Madara

[7:28]

It’s spreading. The Rex and the Nine are involved

**From: Wednesday Addams**

[7:29]

I have the overnight shift, but I’ll warn Suigetsu and Jugo.

That’s as close to an _I’ll be careful, I promise_ as Kabuto will give, Kakashi knows, and lets himself be satisfied with that. He doesn’t say thanks, either, just breathes out.

**From: The Pretty Stepsibling**

[7:30]

You can pass the message on?

**From: Wednesday Addams**

[7:30]

That our parent doesn’t need to resurrect you? Yes, I’ll tell them.

[7:31]

Whatever you're planning, try to be less stupid than normal.

Before Kakashi can compose a sufficiently scathing reply, the passenger-side door opens, and Minato slides into the jeep, setting a heavy bag on the dashboard. Kakashi takes one look at his face and almost blanches; he’s seen Minato look cold before, but this is _arctic_ , so perfectly still and steady he might as well be lost in thought, except for the darkness in normally bright blue eyes.

“By the river, you said?” he asks, and there's only the faintest catch in his voice to give away the fact that there's anything below the surface.

Kakashi knows his teacher, though. There's a hurricane raging in him right now, and if there was anything at all in Kakashi that could feel sorry for Madara, he might try to. Minato on a good day is scary enough. Minato furious? Kakashi honestly can't think of a single time in his life that he’s seen it happen before this.

“That’s what I was told,” he confirms, and without waiting for orders turns the car on and pulls out, heading for the stretch of river that meanders past the shipping yard. It’s usually deserted, on the way to Sakumo and Orochimaru’s property, and far enough away from civilization that no one would hear Genma screaming. It’s the most likely place for Madara to have caught him.

Minato nods, one sharp bob of his head, and then keeps going, tipping downward to bury his face in his hands. He doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t move at all, but somehow that makes it even more unnerving. Kakashi swallows, can't quite manage to look at him straight on for fear that something inside of him will start to crack. Finish cracking, maybe.

Then, slowly and carefully, Minato breathes out. He pushes up, turning his face away to look out the window, and rakes a hand through messy blond hair. “Orochimaru—” he starts, and then immediately shakes his head. “No, never mind. Just—get us there.”

Kakashi can already see the edge of the city approaching, and he turns off of the paved road, heading down a rutted dirt track that was likely once part of a construction site, now abandoned. A ghoul problem, Kakashi thinks he remembers his father saying, though he can't recall clearly right now.

“He was in shifted when the call connected,” Kakashi says, scanning the bank as it comes into view. The hill up to it rises sharply, then drops away towards the water, and it cuts down on line of sight.

Minato is looking, too, the line of his mouth just a little tighter than it usually is. “He’s—he was getting used to fighting that way,” he says, and Kakashi pretends not to hear the way he stumbles just faintly over the correction. “Kushina was helping him.”

Because who better to call about his shapeshifter boyfriend than his witch ex-girlfriend, Kakashi thinks, but can't summon the humor he would normally feel at the thought. He stops the jeep at the foot of the hill and turns the engine off, then slides out. Minato is already dragging his bag out, dropping it to the ground to rummage through it, and he comes up with a crossbow and a small quiver of bolts, a sword, three long knives, and—

Kakashi has to look away from the bundle of long, poison-tipped needles Genma has always favored. He turns, heads up the hill as he carefully studies the area, looking for patches of suspicious shadow. The sun is down, the nighttime chill creeping in, and an uneasy feeling slides down Kakashi’s spine, even through the blinding roil of emotion in his gut.

“Minato,” he says, a quiet warning.

Minato steps past him, eyes fixed ahead, and a faint incline of his chin is the only sign that he heard. His shoulders are squared, his stride steady, and for the first time in years Kakashi has to jog to keep pace with him. He has a hand on one of his knives, even though the set of his body is relaxed, and Kakashi knows he can draw it and have in the air in an instant. Whatever is lurking here is going to end up with a knife between the eyes if it thinks it can jump them.

Three steps up to the top of the bank, though, and that entirely ceases to matter.

The ground is scorched, weeds blackened and dead, stones dusted with ash. There are deep gouges in the ground, clear signs of a struggle, and Genma's senbon are scattered over the dirt in handfuls. Something inside of Kakashi goes very, very still and very, very cold, and he slowly scans the hilltop, taking the scene in but hardly registering it. Minato is frozen too, the expression on his face blankly thoughtful but the curl of his knuckles gone white where he’s gripping his knife.

The marks lead west, mirroring the course of the river, and Kakashi draws his sword and follows, careful to keep his steps soundless. Ahead of them, a pile of roughly cut boulders tumbles down across the bank to touch the water, blocking his view of anything beyond, and Kakashi’s been in more than enough sketchy situations to know a perfect ambush spot when he sees it.

Minato must as well, because he pauses, a flicker of calculation crossing his expression, and then meets Kakashi’s eyes and tips his head towards the rear of the pile. Kakashi nods, breaking off to circle around behind while Minato walks straight in, and he quickly, carefully scales the rocks. There's a strange scent on the air, and Kakashi might not have his dogs with him but he can tell it’s _something_. A sharp-edged, almost sweet scent, undercut with ash. Kakashi breathes it in as he slides around the handful of boulders at the top, creeps sideways to come at the river from the other side. He wasn’t quite close enough to Madara at the nest to know if that’s his scent, but—

It smells like fire and riches and death, and he’s willing to bet it is.

In the spreading shadows, there's a flicker of movement, and Kakashi goes still. The person isn’t looking at him, though, has their eyes trained determinedly forward, and beyond them Kakashi catches a flash of blond hair. They're watching Minato, and Kakashi can see the dart of light reflecting off a bare blade. One second to check for anyone else and he lunges, quick and quiet, slaps a hand over the vampire’s mouth and slams the hilt of his sword into their temple.

With a muffled whimper, the vampire crumples, and Kakashi guides him down, carefully lifting his hand. A fairly newly turned one, he thinks, a little dispassionately, eyeing the curly hair and young face. The hilt of Kakashi’s sword is silver, but an older vampire would have shaken off that blow in a moment. Still, it saves him time, so he leaves the fledgling where he dropped and slides forward, keeping low. Minato is just rounding the edge of the boulders, and—

There. Seated on a jut of stone, lounging like it’s the black marble throne Kakashi last saw him on, is Madara. He’s smirking, dark and hard in the flicker light of the handfuls of fire floating around him, one hand playing with a familiar leather cord studded with red stones. His other rests, heavy and possessive, on the golden-brown hair falling over his knee, and Kakashi’s next breath feels like a knife in his chest.

Genma. That’s _Genma_ , propped up against Madara's leg and leaning all his weight on him, entirely limp and breathing shallowly. Kakashi can't see anything but his hair and a glimpse of his shoulder, but he’s _alive_.

Likely not for long, if he’s been hurt as much as Kakashi thinks he has, but they’ll get him out. They don’t have a choice. Kakashi is hardly going to let anyone else suffer Madara's attention, not when he’s already seen what it’s done to Obito.

He can see the exact moment Minato realizes what he’s seeing, because he comes to a dead stop, and Kakashi can hear his sharp breath, the wounded noise he makes on the exhale. “Genma,” he says, relief and reflex tangled up together, and then, “ _Madara_.”

Madara chuckles, stroking Genma's hair in a motion calculated to anger. “Are you surprised to find him breathing? A whim, I promise. I decided he might make a decent housecat, with enough training.” He lets his hand slide down to cup Genma's chin, tilting his head up, and Kakashi has to suck in a breath at the sight of the deep, terrible burn that stretches from his cheek all the way down to his chest. Genma's a shapeshifter, able to heal from pretty much anything that doesn’t kill him outright, but that’s just about the worst Kakashi has ever seen, even on corpses.

Slowly, deliberately, Madara loops the leather cord around Genma's seared throat and lets it lie there, a pretty, mocking collar.

“A whim,” Minato repeats evenly, and blue eyes are fixed on Madara, unwavering and icy. “Was that why you attacked him to begin with? Boredom?”

Madara snorts, carelessly letting Genma's head drop back to his knee. Genma makes a short, breathless sound of pain, automatic and gutting, and Kakashi curls his fingers into an edge of stone and tells himself that he can't stake Madara yet. Not until he’s more thoroughly distracted. No matter how much Kakashi hates him, Madara is still a Master vampire, and Kakashi won't be able to take him without an advantage.

That is, of course, if Minato gives him the chance, and judging by the artic fury that’s rising, it’s still very much a question.

“That?” Madara asks airily, like it’s of no concern at all. “Oh no. An ally was watching the Deathless and his pet, and when a Hunter came to see them? Well. One of your people is hiding my consort from me. He’s a silly little thing, so foolish, but I love him dearly. I just want him back.” Those fingers go tight in brown hair, and dark eyes narrow with fury even as Genma twitches and groans in pain. “Hunter, you have no idea what I will do to be _sure_ he returns to me.”

Obito. Of course it’s about Obito. Kakashi remembers his assessment, quiet and terrified, of what Madara planned to do to him. _I would never go along with being his weapon. Not in my right mind. But Madara knows that. He was bringing Danzō in again, though. Just like last time when he took my memories. And this time—_

He hadn’t finished, but just that was enough. Stolen memories, stolen power, a stolen _life_ , and of course Madara won't let go that easily, with everything he’s already taken. Kakashi hadn’t thought he would, had known it would escalate to a confrontation, but it just makes him want to stake Madara more, that he’s willing to go to these lengths.

Minato makes a quiet sound that could almost pass for amusement if Kakashi didn’t know him. “Are you sure you have time to be worrying about a boyfriend?” he asks, and Kakashi has to wince. “It seems to me like the Rex cutting you off at the knees and the strongest of the Nine coming for your head would be a bit more pressing.”

Because, Kakashi realizes with a grimace, Minato doesn’t _know_ what's happening. He has a handful of pieces, but not even as many as Kakashi does. He can't see that there's a hell of a lot more happening than just Kushina being a rabble-rouser.

With a low growl, Madara shifts forward like a big cat coming alert, ready to strike. His eyes slide to black and crimson, alight with an eerie, burning power, and he laughs, vicious and sharp enough to cut. He leans towards Minato, hand dropping to fist in Genma's collar, and as he rises to his feet he drags the other Hunter up with him. Genma jerks in his grasp, eyes fluttering open for a moment, but he looks too dazed to fight back, face gone pale with pain.

Kakashi wishes for Minato's crossbow more than anything as he stares down at the vampire. He hasn’t ever wanted to kill someone quite so badly before.

“My consort _will_ be returned to me,” he growls. “And if you don’t have him, you will find who _does_ , or I might just decide to keep your little kitten as my next feeder.”

Minato sucks in a breath, head coming up, and in an instant he’s moving, flinging himself across the rocks. His coat swirls as he turns, bringing his crossbow up and firing in one smooth movement, and Madara bats the bolt out of the air but has to duck aside as Minato's dagger follows, skimming right past Madara's cheek and raising a line of blood. Madara jerks, and by then Minato is right in front of him, a second knife slicing for his throat. With a snarl, Madara meets him, dropping Genma and lunging. Minato drops, uses one boot to propel Madara right over him, and summersaults to his feet and follows.

A punch nearly drops him, misses his head by an inch as he folds down, one leg sweeping out to kick Madara in the backs of the knees, but Madara vanishes in a swirl of shadows. With a sound of surprise, Minato leaps up—

Madara almost loses his hand as Kakashi sweeps his sword down between them, just managing to catch the edge of Madara's sleeve before the vampire vanishes again.

“Damn it,” Kakashi breathes, turning sharply to put his back to Minato's. He scans the rocks, but with night falling there are too many shadows, and it’s hard to pick out one that’s likely to be Madara. “All right?”

He can just make out Minato's nod from the corner of his eye. “Fine. We need to get Genma to a doctor. You should—”

“Definitely not leave you here to deal with him alone,” Kakashi finishes for him, pointedly mild. He wants to get Genma to Rin as soon as possible, too, but Madara is dangerous that even with both of them winning is a long shot.

“Kakashi—” Minato starts, but at the moment Madara takes three long steps out of the darkness behind them.

“You,” he hisses, staring at Kakashi. “The wolf’s son. You left with Obito, that night.”

Damn it. There wasn’t much hope of getting out of this unrecognized, but the world didn’t need to prove Kakashi right quite so readily. He offers Madara a cheery smile, entirely bullshit, and touches two fingers to his brow in lazy salute. “Yo.”

Madara's smile is nothing less than a threat. “A Hunter as well. How interesting. Perhaps _you_ have some idea why my pretty little consort tried to drive a knife through my heart, then.”

“It’s a shame he missed,” Kakashi says lightly. “But I do have an idea. Or several.”

With a low chuckle, Madara approaches, languid and unworried, eyes fixed on Kakashi. “Oh? Do tell.”

Kakashi is definitely not in the right frame of mind to keep his temper right now. He can feel his smile thinning, turning vicious, and can't quite make the words as light as he intends when he answers, “Well, I'm just guessing, you know. But maybe fifty years of being your sex slave finally caught up to him.”

Madara stops, eyes narrowing, and there's a long, dragging minute of silence as he watches Kakashi and Minato watches both of them, wary and faintly confused. Then Madara tips his head back and _laughs_.

“Sex slave,” he says, mocking. “Oh, little boy. I see you fell for his charms, too. Isn’t he lovely? So responsive, so willing. Tell him you love him and he’ll do _anything_ for you. But then, I suppose you’ve realized that already.”

Nausea twists through Kakashi’s stomach, and he has to swallow, has to focus to keep his hands from shaking with pure, unflinching _rage_. “It’s over,” he says, deathly quiet. “You won't find him, and you won't feed on him again. Whatever power you stole, it’s your _last_.”

Surprise flashes across Madara's face, stark but quickly buried again. “That,” he snaps, “is none of your concern. Obito is mine, and you will bring him to me.”

“Not if a thousand lives rested in the balance,” Kakashi says quietly, and it’s deathly quiet but he means it right down to his bones. Selfish and cruel and shortsighted, maybe, but Kakashi would kill that thousand himself if it would keep Obito safe and out of Madara's reach.

There's a pause, and then Madara chuckles lightly. “Well,” he says, “you certainly won't do it _willingly_ , I can see that.”

Minato makes a sound of alarm, but there isn’t even time to react. Kakashi feels a cold flash of horror and dives sideways, even as he brings his sword up to block, but the shadows are swirling and Madara is stepping back. The orbs of fire flare, brighter and brighter, until they're almost enough to blind, and in their light Madara reaches down, grabbing Genma by the hair and hauling him up.

“We all make choices,” he says, silky and mocking, and his eyes flicker to Minato as the man makes a sound of tightly contained fury. “Let’s see what yours is.”

Casually, carelessly, he turns, and tosses Genma over the edge of the bank and into the river.

There's no need to consider. “Go!” Kakashi snaps, and shoves Minato towards the water. One quick glance at him, apology and grim determination in equal measure, and Minato sprints for the edge, pauses for half a second to get his bearings, and dives. Kakashi hears the splash even as he turns, ducking under Madara's grabbing hand and stabbing forward hard. His blade scores flesh, sends a hiss of smoke rising from undead skin, and Madara snarls, twists. His backhand just misses as Kakashi ducks and rolls, comes up—

A sheet of flame blocks his way, forces him to turn sharply and change direction, and he’s not fast enough to avoid Madara at the same time. A hand catches the side of his head, hurls him sideways into the wall of boulders, and darkness explodes behind Kakashi’s eyes, overwhelming everything.


	27. Mark how she wreathes each horn with mist, yon late and labouring moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited, but I will return and do so when I'm not so tired my brain is melting out of my ears. Enjoy!

Kakashi is gone.

Minato drags Genma up onto the bank, cursing quietly, and can't bring himself to look at the empty, silent stretch of ground where Kakashi and Madara were fighting. There's a splatter of blood on one of the rocks, a sword abandoned on the ground, but no sign of anyone else. No use looking for a car, given Madara's disappearing trick, and only one place he could have conceivably gone—back to the nest, back to whatever torture chambers he has there, back to whatever madness he’s brewing that has so many people up in arms.

He’d hoped he would be fast enough to get back, to help, but—

Always, always when it’s most important, Minato is too slow.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Minato pushes up onto his knees, gets his arms around Genma's chest and pulls him all the way out of the water. So simple, then, to just keep pulling, to drag Genma up against his chest and wrap his arms around him, burying his face in wet brown hair.

 _Genma's dead_ , he hears, like a horrific echo, and has to brace himself against the rocks as his grip tightens. Two words, but he’d heard them and felt like someone had ripped everything important out of his chest and filled him with cold fire in its place. And then seeing Madara touch him, so casually cruel—

He swallows, forces his breaths to stay even, his heartbeat to stay slow. Can't afford to lose his temper or his composure, not when he’s going to have to stand up and get moving, drag Genma to see Rin and then start gathering allies. Jiraiya will help him, he’s sure, even if Sarutobi denies him a rescue mission. And Sakumo, and Orochimaru, and likely Anko and Kabuto as well, not to mention all the Hunters in the city who know Kakashi personally.

Madara might not realize it yet, but kidnapping Kakashi was his greatest mistake.

It wasn’t about Kakashi, though, he reminds himself, feels a flicker of grim certainty as the pieces fall together. He remembers Kakashi’s desperation to get back into the nest, even as he escaped it, his certainty that the person he knew in the court was irrevocably tangled with everything that was happening. A vampire, and between that and Madara's words—Kakashi’s in love with Madara's consort, and the consort probably loves him back, and if they’d just _told him_ Minato might have been able to _help_ —

In his arms, there's a faint shift, a soft sound. Genma's fingers curl around his arm, and all the breath escapes Minato on a shuddering gasp of relief as hazel eyes slide open. “ _Genma_ ,” he says, and can't manage anything else.

“Minato.” Genma takes a breath that wobbles faintly, tilts his head back against Minato's shoulder and manages to smile up at him through his hair. “Fuck, but I'm happy to see you.”

He looks terrible, wet hair clinging to his face, skin scorched and blistered, one eye swollen almost shut. There are cuts across his chest, still seeping blood, and more burns on his hands, and Minato is going to find Madara, cut him open, and fill him with silver. He presses his cheek to Genma's unhurt one, lets himself feel the weight of Genma in his arms, and tries not to let the creeping edge of darkness that’s been with him since he got Kakashi’s phone call overwhelm everything.

“We need to get you to Rin,” he manages, and there's nothing in him that wants to let go, but Genma needs a healer.

It’s telling that Genma doesn’t protest, just curls his fingers around Minato's arm and manages a brief nod. “Kakashi?” he asks, and Minato can see pale lashes dip, then rise again, slow but determined as he clings to consciousness.

“Gone,” a flat voice says, and Minato only just manages not to startle, not to dump Genma on the ground as he lunges for a weapon. Instead, he wrenches his instincts under control and turns to look at the necromancer emerging from the shadows, a massive white wolf beside him and an unfamiliar young man stumbling in front of him, one of Orochimaru’s pale hands clamped on his shoulder.

Quick footsteps sound behind them, and a moment later Rin ducks around Sakumo, already pulling her beaten-up messenger bag over her head. She spares a brief flash of a smile for Minato as she pulls a pack of playing cards from one of the pockets, then frowns and riffles through three pockets in quick succession, expression shading closer to alarmed with each one.

“Hey, hey!” another woman calls, and Orochimaru’s daughter crouches down next to her, offering a small drawstring pouch. “You dropped this,” Anko says cheerfully, though her eyes are serious.

Rin takes it with a smile, leaning in to kiss the younger woman on the cheek. “What would I do without you,” she says warmly, then settles back, tugging the pouch open and spilling a handful of crystals out onto her palm.

Anko just grins, rocking back on her heels, and offers Genma a wave. “You look like dog shit, Shiranui.”

Genma flips her off, even though he can't get his hand up more than an inch or two. “And you're as charming as nails on a chalkboard, Anko.”

Laughing, Anko bounces up on her toes, then twirls around to beam at her parent. “So now we get to do the torturing?” she asks, eyeing the curly-haired boy Orochimaru is holding like her next meal, and when her tongue slides out to lick her lips it’s long and forked.

The boy blanches. “No! No torturing! And stop looking like you're going to eat me, okay? _No_. I have rights!”

His eyes flicker to red and black for an instant before Orochimaru lightly slaps the back of his head, and he yelps and tries to duck away.

An Uchiha, Minato thinks, and that darkness is creeping back, sliding through his veins like ice. A young Uchiha at that, and Madara must have had him somewhere close by, ready to step in if the fight ended up too close to fair for Madara's taste. He forces himself to breathe evenly, trying not to jostle Genma, and—

Genma shifts forward with a strangled groan, letting Rin slide an arm around his back. “Go,” he says, glancing back at Minato, and that smile is the one Minato loves so much, swift and warm and a little crooked. “I'm fine.”

“You will be,” Rin agrees, casting Minato a reassuring smile of her own. Her hands are glowing with the ocean-blue of Isobu’s magic, crystals sparking and humming with it as she sets them against Genma's skin. Minato manages a smile back, still a little overwhelmed that his trainee Hunter, so stubborn and kind, managed to become one of the most powerful witches in the world while he wasn’t looking.

Carefully, he shifts back, helps Rin lay Genma out flat on the ground, and squeezes Genma's hand gently as he pushes to his feet. Genma gives him a tired smile, closing his eyes, and Minato's breath catches sharply in his throat at the sight of him like that, so still and so hurt.

Usually Minato's better at keeping his temper, but right now the man who did this to Genma is somewhere else, has _Kakashi_ , and Minato can hardly think straight.

He turns on his heel, shrugging out of his waterlogged coat and letting it drop, then pulling one of his knives from the sheath on his wrist. “I take it something alerted you?” he asks, and golden eyes are watching him, cool and calculating in a way Minato has always appreciated. One of the reasons, he thinks privately, that he and Orochimaru have never quite managed to coexist peacefully is that they're far to similar where their darkest facets are concerned, and it’s usually uncomfortable for Minato to see that so clearly. Right now, though, he can't bring himself to care.

Orochimaru tips his head, and at his side Sakumo growls, a low, rumbling sound that’s practically subvocal, and trembles through the air like thunder heard from too close. The wolf’s ears fold back, lips pulling away from long, sharp teeth, and he takes a step forward, slow and predatory.

“The boy asked for a tracking spell,” Orochimaru says, though he doesn’t so much as glance at Genma, eyes fixed on the vampire in his hold. “I simply added something extra. When he was injured, it alerted me. Though I see we are too late.”

Sakumo snarls, and it’s furious enough to make the vampire flinch. He reels back as far as Orochimaru’s hold will let him, raising his hands, and says almost desperately, “I don’t know anything, I swear!”

“Slightly less believable than it might otherwise be,” Orochimaru says coolly, “seeing as you're here and undoubtedly an Uchiha.”

Anko giggles, light and cheerful and murderous. “Kabuto's on his way,” she says, waving her phone lightly. “He’s good at the torture-type stuff, too, and he’s going to be mad that we interrupted his lunch hour. You might want to tell us where Kakashi is before he gets here, though I guess he’ll be pissy either way.” She tips her head, tapping a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “A pissy necromancer with surgeon’s training is probably not great for you, right?”

“Oh gods.” The boy blanches, trying to take a step back. “I didn’t even ask questions, okay? Madara told me to come and make sure he wasn’t interrupted, and I came. I'm his youngest Child, I just thought this was a good way to gain his favor, I didn’t realize there was kidnapping involved!”

Minato breathes, tells himself that stabbing their only lead as to where Madara might have taken Kakashi won't do anything to help. He curls his fingers around the hilt, rubbing the pad of his index finger over the ward engraved into the metal, and then takes a step forward. Orochimaru sees him move, and smiles just faintly, cold and chilling as he releases the vampire. The boy stiffens, but before he can even think of running Minato catches hold of his shoulder and slams him back into the rocks with the weight of his body, presses silver right up against his jugular.

“That kidnapping was of my student,” he says, perfectly polite, perfectly steady. He even manages a smile, as friendly as he can make it, and watches the vampire blanche. “What do you know about the why?”

Dark eyes flicker from Minato to Orochimaru to Anko, and the boy grimaces. “I really didn’t know he’d go this far,” he says again, but this time he meets Minato's stare, holds his eyes as seriously as he can, and…it’s not quite remorse in his face, but maybe there's a touch more regret than Minato would expect from one of Madara's clan.

“Madara's looking for his consort,” Genma says unexpectedly, and Minato turns just enough to look at him as Rin helps him sit up. He slumps forward for a moment, like that simple motion took all of his energy, but when he raises his head his eyes are intent, focused, and there's a shadow of predatory sharpness underneath the warm hazel eyes. “Obito's got something to do with Madara getting more powerful. Kushina's tossing everyone right into a war so that Madara won't have time to plan, and with his consort missing there's every chance he won't have the power to stop either the Senju or a coup from one of his Children.”

“And Kakashi is his way of getting his consort to come right to him,” Minato finishes, remembering the utter, cold rage on Kakashi’s face when Madara laughed at him. Remembering the tight, furious measure of his tone as he mocked Madara, and Minato _knows_ Kakashi; with someone he cares about on the line, there's no chance he’ll give Madara anything even vaguely close to what he wants.

Genma nods, wincing faintly as Rin presses a piece of rose quarts to the burn on his face. The stone shimmers for a moment, and new skin spreads out from underneath it in a wash of pale light that makes Genma sigh in relief. “I don’t know what the hell their story is,” he says with faint amusement, “but it must be one for the soap operas.”

Rin smiles, tipping his head away from her. “Kakashi saved Obito's life,” she says. “And Obito saved Ūhei’s. You know how Kakashi is. And I think Obito must be the same way, for them to have fallen together so quickly.”

Minato blinks, surprised that she so clearly knows what happened, and opens his mouth to ask how, but before he can the vampire makes a startled sound. “You—Obito _ran away with a Hunter_?” he demands. “But he’s—he and Madara—”

Rin turns just enough to fix him with one of her truly devastating ‘I'm disappointed in you and that was bad and you should _feel_ bad about it’ looks. “I hope you're not going to say _love each other_ ,” she says, and it’s one of the severest tones Minato has ever heard from her. “Madara has been hurting Obito for a long time now, and he only just got free.”

The boy winces. “I wasn’t,” he denies, though it’s not nearly as convincing as it should be. “But Obito's never away from Madara for more than a day or two. He must have been kidnapped, or—”

“Stop talking,” Minato says mildly, and tries not to feel a flicker of amusement at the way his mouth snaps shut with an audible click. “Rin, we’re going to need to find where Madara took Kakashi. And we should find the consort, too—we’ll be able to protect him from Madara.”

Before Rin can answer, Orochimaru flicks a hand, as if he’s dismissing the matter. “My tracking spell is still active. Finding Kakashi will be no trouble. The consort might prove harder, but given his connection to Kakashi, and how close they’ve been…”

It takes Minato a second to realize what the necromancer means, but when it clicks he can feel his ears getting hot, and hopes like hell he’s not blushing. “Orochimaru! That—shouldn’t that be _private_?” he protests.

Orochimaru gives him a look of lazy amusement as Anko laughs wickedly. “Nothing but the truth, my dear commander,” he murmurs, though his eyes are close to mocking. At his side, Sakumo huffs, tail wagging once before he grows serious again. Sharp ears prick, and he nudges Orochimaru lightly.

Flicking a glance at him, Orochimaru inclines his head. “We should go before any more time is wasted. Namikaze, I assume you can follow?”

Kakashi’s jeep is still waiting, with the keys in it. The thought makes Minato's chest tight, but he nods. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he promises, and leaves the vampire to Anko’s tender mercies as he crosses the space to crouch down next to Genma.

“How is he?” he asks Rin.

“He’s right here,” Genma says, dry and pointed, but when Minato levels a look at him he rolls his eyes, then winces.

Rin snorts softly, shaking her head. “He’ll be fine,” she assures Minato. “It will take me a while to get to everything, though. You're going to have to go ahead.”

As nice as it would be to have Isobu’s power backing them up, Minato would much rather have Genma healed. He smiles, reaching out to grasp Genma's hand, and says, “That’s fine. Is someone staying to guard you? If Madara pulled the hostage trick once he might try it again.”

“Anko will,” Rin says, though she gives him a vaguely reproachful look. “And I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Of course you can.” Minato leans in to kiss her forehead lightly, which makes her laugh, and then turns to Genma, who’s watching him with a crooked smile. Already knowing what's going through his head, Minato squeezes his fingers and says firmly, “This isn’t your fault. If Madara hadn’t grabbed you, he would have just grabbed a different Hunter.”

Genma hums, and it’s the precise tone that could be either unconvinced or agreeing, and Minato can never tell. “Just rip that bastard’s face off for me,” he says. “And get Kakashi back in one piece. He still owes me twenty bucks.”

Minato laughs, full of relief, and reaches up to cup Genma's face in his hands. The younger man leans in, tilting his head, and Minato kisses him, slow and soft and warm. It’s too brief, and Minato doesn’t want to let go, but they're rushing from one disaster to the next right now, and every minute he hesitates is another minute Madara has Kakashi.

“I love you,” he tells Genma, resting their foreheads together for a heartbeat.

Genma presses his lips to Minato's cheek, tangles his fingers in his hair for a moment, and then pulls back to smile at him. “I love you, too. Go save Kakashi.”

There's nothing Minato can do but smile back, push to his feet, and turn away.

 

 

Kakashi isn’t coming back to bed, and it’s annoying.

Obito groans into the pillow, because nothing in him wants to get up—he feels good, warm and fed and…well. Fucked, except normally that would bring to mind the ache of Madara using him thoroughly, and this just feels good. He’s a little sore, but hardly enough to count, and there's still a languid, easy feeling of pleasure right beneath his skin. It’s enough to make him lazy, and he wants to curl up against Kakashi and indulge for just a little while.

The other side of the bed is cold, though, and getting colder, and Obito makes another muffled sound of annoyance and pushes up on his elbow. Silence is all he can hear, and there's the sort of complete hush that means no one is moving. Obito frowns a little, sitting up all the way, thinks about calling for Kakashi, but this is someone else’s house and that seems rude.

Gai probably wouldn’t care, judging by what Obito's seen of him, but even so, Obito can't bring himself to. He slides out of bed, and it’s nowhere near as painful or arduous as the last time he got up—his head isn’t spinning, his limbs aren’t shaking, and that strange prickling under his skin has faded away to little more than a vague awareness of _something_. Ignorable, in the long run—Obito has lived with far, far worse.

His pants are dangling halfway off the foot of the bed, and Obito pulls them on, then grimaces. He doesn’t have a shirt—his own was shredded in the fight with Madara—and Kakashi must be wearing his own, since it’s gone. A quick check of the chest of drawers reveals a neatly folded set of clothes, though, worn but serviceable and smelling like Kakashi, and Obito filches the black tank top without qualms. Still no shoes, but that seems less pressing, and Obito heads out into the main room with silent steps.

The hush stretches out here, muffling like snowfall, without even the sound of traffic outside. It’s a little unnerving, honestly, and Obito glances around, takes in the lack of shoes near the doorway, and wonders if he missed some sort of exodus.

From behind the couch, there's a whine, then a scrabble of claws on the hardwood. A moment later Kakashi’s Husky darts around the edge of the furniture, Ūhei a step behind him, and comes to a sharp halt right in front of Obito. Tilting his head, he whines again and sits down hard. Ūhei slinks around him to press up against Obito's leg, ears folded back against his head, ad he whines too, looking up at Obito with worried eyes.

Obito looks back at them, and it feels like his stomach is sinking down right to his toes. Something’s wrong. There's no concrete evidence, maybe, but—every muscle in Obito's body braces for the impact of the next disaster, and given Kakashi’s absence, given the way his dogs are acting, it must have something to do with him.

Taking a breath, Obito sinks down on one knee, curling an arm over Ūhei’s back and holding out his hand for Shiba. “Hey, what's up? Where is Kakashi?”

Shiba’s ears perk up at the name, and he practically bolts to the front door, scratching at it twice to make his point and then turning to whine at Obito again. Which is…about what Obito was expecting, but that doesn’t make the growing knot of unease any better. He swallows, closes his eye. “Damn it,” he mutters, because Kakashi was the one to say it was a bad idea to go out, to insist that Rin's wards would keep them safe as long as they stayed in the house, and now this. Obito is going to find the idiot and wring his damned neck.

Pushing to his feet, he looks between the two dogs, very clearly not about to go anywhere else or allow themselves to be left behind, and grimaces. “I have no idea where your leashes are,” he tells them. “Though I guess breaking leash laws is the least of our problems.”

Ūhei gives him a reproachful look, as though it’s ridiculous to think that dogs like them _need_ leashes.

“Fine,” Obito says on a sigh, checks the room once more, and then pulls the door open. Shiba and Ūhei don’t bolt out immediately, which is a pleasant surprise, but attach themselves to his side as he makes his way down the flight of stairs. There's another door set into the bottommost landing with a sign on it that declares it the office, and Obito eyes it for a moment but ultimately keeps going, stepping out the main door and onto the street. It’s empty, without even cars on the road, and no streetlights. For a moment, Obito eyes the street, heading towards the river, but he has no idea what kind of car Kakashi drives or even if he owns one, so he can't tell if Kakashi is truly gone or not. There's—

Shiba paws lightly at his leg, then bounces a handful of impatient steps towards the corner of the building. He barks once, the sound urgent, and then waits, ears pricked and crest of grey fur falling in his eyes as he stares intently at Obito.

“That way, then?” Obito asks, bemused, and Shiba barks again. As soon as Obito starts moving, Ūhei at his side, the bigger dog darts around the corner. There's a low woof, and Ūhei’s ears perk up.

“What, that means the coast is clear?” Obito lets the dog nudge him forward, and despite the flippant tone he takes a second to scan this street as well. There's a familiar bike parked on the curb, no traffic, shuttered houses—

And a familiar body, sprawled just off the edge of the sidewalk in the weeds.

Obito is running before he can even think about moving, tripping over cracked pavement and throwing himself down onto his knees besides Kisame's still form. No obvious wounds, but that’s hardly a comfort when he’s so still, and Obito gets his hands around the man’s shoulder and heaves him over, rolling him onto his back with some effort.

As he’s moved, Kisame groans, rough and pained, and Obito breathes a prayer to whatever deity looks after idiotic, reckless shapeshifters. He checks for a pulse, finds it steady and strong, and sits back on his heels, watching Kisame grimace and twitch. Whatever happened to him, he’s coming out of it, and Obito sighs in relief, painfully glad that whatever he got hit with it wasn’t something fatal.

Another groan, and Kisame's eyes slide open, halfway shifted—pale iris, black sclera, skin shading towards blue-grey as he takes a sharp, startled breath and jerks upright, one hand already reaching for the sword he normally carries.

Obito catches his wrist, careful to keep his fingers gentle. “Kisame?” he asks.

Kisame's eyes flicker to him, focus, steady. He takes another breath, the grey washing out of his skin to leave it the deep brown it normally is, and turns his hand to grip Obito's wrist in return. “Obito,” he says, and then, “Where’s Aoba?”

“He was with you?” Obito casts another glance up and down the street, but doesn’t see so much as a trace of the other Hunter. “I'm looking for Kakashi. He’s not in the house, and his dogs are worried.”

With a low sound that’s as close to outright anger as Obito has ever heard from the man, Kisame levers himself to his feet, dragging Obito up with him. “We thought someone was being attacked, but it was a trap,” he says grimly. “The Uzumaki sorceress and Tōka Senju. They must have kidnapped both of them.”

 _Fuck_. Obito takes a careful breath, trying to imagine what Mito and Tōka could possibly want with Aoba and Kakashi, but—

The answer is all too obvious, really.

“They're trying to draw me out,” he says, and his voice is unsteady, wavers like he doesn’t normally allow it to, but—this is _Kakashi_. “They must have seen you in the forest, and known that I’d—”

He can't finish, can't bring himself to, but the thought hangs between them as Kisame meets his eyes with a certain grim steadiness. There's a long moment of silence, and then Kisame grins, all teeth.

“Well?” he asks, and the look in eerie shark-eyes is unrelenting bloody humor. “Is it going to work?”

Obito takes a breath, curls his fingers into a fist and looks down at them. His pulse is thundering in his ears, heavy and swift, but he’s steadier than he has been since before Madara's court. Not quite full, not perfect, but—

He thinks about Kakashi trapped with the Senju, with _Madara_ if the Senju are defeated. Thinks about fifty years of not being able to do a damned thing, and the fight just yesterday, where he left Madara unconscious on the floor of his own torture chamber. Thinks about throwing Kawarama, about the rush of the world inverting, and steels himself as he looks up to meet Kisame's gaze.

Power. This is going to take power, and for a vampire that only means one thing.

“You fucking _bet_ it’s going to work,” he says, vicious. “Is that offer of blood still open?”

Kisame's grin goes wide and intent and bloody, and he laughs, pushing up his sleeve. “Not quite the way I always imagined it,” he says as Obito takes ahold of his wrist, but when he glances up there's only amusement in Kisame's eyes. “But I’ll take it.”

Obito gives him a crooked smile in return, tries to think of anything he _wouldn’t_ do to save Kakashi from even the slimmest chance of ending up at Madara's nonexistent mercy. Thinks what he wouldn’t do to have the chance to turn the tables on Madara, to take back whatever power the bastard’s been stealing for the last fifty years.

In the scope of that, taking blood that’s willingly offered is a step, but—manageable. He can do this.

To save Kakashi, he won't let himself do anything else.


	28. White lilies, in whose cups the gold bees dream

“Think you can manage it?”

The answer to that is honestly _not a fucking chance_ , but Obito isn’t about to tell Kisame that. He tightens his grip on the knife Kisame lent him, swallows, and closes his eye.

“Sure,” he says, mostly bravado with a dressing of desperate hope. “Teleportation. Like that’s hard.”

Kisame chuckles, looming over him as he adjusts his sword, then drops a hand on Obito's shoulder. “Not for you,” he says cheerfully.

Obito will never admit this either, but the words actually help. _Kisame_ helps, in more ways than just an emergency blood transfusion—Obito can feel it singing through him, a sharper, more potent power than what came from Kakashi’s blood, but he’d still rather have Kisame at his back than the gift of blood, hands down. Especially given that they're about to face down the Senju _again_ and their collective track record there is something less than stellar.

But the Senju have Kakashi and Aoba, and Obito isn’t about to let that stand.

He has no idea how he managed it the first time, just remembers the desperation to escape, to get anywhere else. To get to Kakashi in particular—that was the thought that had carried him. First to Ūhei, desperate to keep the dog from being killed, and then once he had Ūhei to the only person who meant _safety_ to him in that moment. He had reached for both of them, one after another, and…

Maybe it really is that simple.

Obito takes a breath, curls his hands into fists, and forces himself to straighten, pushing back into Kisame's touch. “Easy,” he repeats, and it’s only a little wry. “Okay.” One glance at the dogs, watching attentively, and he sighs and reaches for both of them. “Come on, you two. Let’s go find your stupid owner.”

Ūhei immediately throws himself right up against Obito's leg, and Shiba isn’t all that much more reserved, pushing under Obito's hand and sitting down on his foot. They clearly know something out of the ordinary is happening, and Obito has to wonder yet again about the rumor that Hunters make deals with friendly animal spirits. He’d certainly believe it, after meeting Ūhei.

“Okay,” he repeats, and Kisame's grip tightens on his shoulder, comfort and reassurance. Obito closes his eye, thinks of Kakashi, of his hands and voice and smile. Easy enough to picture clearly, and he doesn’t have the boost of Hashirama’s blood this time so it isn’t as simple as a thought, but—

He reaches, and the air seems to ripple, sensation more than sight. There's something dark, some _where_ dark, but it’s gone in an instant. Obito's feet hit uneven stone, and he yelps, almost falling on his face. Kisame's hold pulls him back upright, just as Shiba and Ūhei start growling.

“Fuck,” Obito breathes, and the darkness is too thick to see through, pressing and confining, but he definitely can't hear Kakashi. Can't hear _anything_ , but it’s an oppressive, watchful sort of silence, like something is just waiting to take a bite out of them.

“Can you do that fire thing?” Kisame asks, almost soundless and right against his ear. Obito can hear leather shifting, Kisame drawing the oversized sword he loves so much, but it won't do much good if they can't see.

Still, Obito isn’t going to be much help with that, either. “Only if you want me to set _us_ on fire,” he hisses. “I got Madara in the face with a fireball _once_ and that was only because he was fucking attached to my neck at the time.”

Kisame makes a low, unhappy noise, but before he can say anything more, Shiba barks in clear warning. Obito twists, ready for an attack, and sees—

A dart of golden light, like a very lost firefly, flickering in the midst of the darkness. And then another, warm crimson, and a third in green. More and more of them come to life, and in the dancing light they cast, Obito can finally make out where they are. A cavern, vast and soaring, with stalactites hanging over their heads like bared teeth. The floor is smooth stone, water-worn, but there's no trace of the river left in either dampness or sound. Just warm marble, rising like frozen waterfalls around the edges of the room.

And in the center of the room, stark white and looming, is a sarcophagus.

“Well, that’s fucking creepy,” Obito mutters, putting a hand on Shiba’s head. The Husky is bristling, teeth bared, and Obito is willing to bet it’s not just at the glorified coffin, even if it does have the lid removed.

Kisame chuckles, taking a step to the side. “Flashy even for a vampire,” he acknowledges, though his eyes do a careful sweep of the room. “I don’t see your Hunter—”

He breaks off sharply, and Obito jerks around, following his gaze past the sarcophagus with its sideways lid, past a dip in the floor with three steps leading down. For a moment, Obito can't breathe, expecting Kakashi’s corpse, or Aoba's, blood or bodies or maybe missing limbs.

What he sees instead is a man, stretched out on the stone and clearly asleep, covered  by the shimmer of a magical barrier. There are manacles on each wrist, carved with faintly glowing runes, and in the shifting, multicolored light of the witchfire it’s easy enough to recognize him, even though it’s been almost fifty years since the last time Obito set eyes on him.

“That’s Kagami,” Obito says, utterly bewildered. “Madara—Madara killed him _decades_ ago, what the fuck is he doing here?”

“And where is here?” Kisame adds, casting Obito a look. “Where were you aiming?”

“For Kakashi,” Obito says absently, taking a step forward. The stone is warm under his bare feet, perfectly smooth, and he keeps walking, the dogs trailing warily at his heels. The sarcophagus, when he passes it, is carved with runes as well, heavy-handed and set deep into the stone, inlaid with silver. Obito grimaces at the sight of it; he’s never encountered anything more clearly meant to contain a vampire, and if Kagami _wasn’t_ dead, odds are good he was stuck in that thing the past fifty years. It’s not a fate Obito would wish on anyone but Madara.

“Door over there,” Kisame says quietly, tipping his head at a wooden door set into the wall. It’s standing open, though, and there's no sign of movement beyond it, so Obito just gives it a quick glance and turns back to Kagami, taking the steps down and then crouching at the edge of the barrier. There are glowing stones scattered along its length, and Obito isn’t anything close to a witch, but he’s been around Nagato enough to recognize these.

“Onyx, tigers eye, smoky quartz, topaz, hematite—these are grounding stones,” he says, frowning. “For balance, or keeping away outside influence, or bringing someone back to themselves. Whoever added them to the barrier—they must be trying to keep out a damned monster.”

“Maybe it’s for Madara?” Kisame asks, and the tone is joking, but…

“Brainwashing,” Obito realizes, and it sends a chill creeping right down to his bones. “They're there to fight brainwashing.”

Kisame makes a low, unhappy sound. “We should get going,” he says. “Aoba and Kakashi aren’t down here, so we need to find them. Think you can try again?”

 _And make it work this time_ , goes unsaid.

Obito still isn’t entirely sure why they ended up down here—maybe Kisame's blood isn’t powerful enough for him to aim well, or maybe without the surge of terrified adrenaline that carried him last time Obito just isn’t good at aiming. But—

There's a low groan, and Kagami stirs. One hand comes up to rub through curly hair, and he pushes up on one elbow with a huff of discontentment. “ _Ow_ ,” he mutters, half a second before dark eyes slide open. He pauses, blinking at Obito, who blinks back, entirely startled.

Then, in a rush, Kagami bolts to his feet, grabbing for the edge of the barrier and only just managing to abort the motion in time to keep from frying his fingers. “ _Obito_!” he cries. “You're _alive_!”

Taken aback, Obito wavers, wondering if he should stage a retreat. If Danzō or someone else managed to get to Kagami, change him or erase memories or _something_ , there's no telling what might happen if he steps out of the barrier. He probably can't get out, but what if he can? Obito's been attacked too many times in the past few days not to be at least a little wary.

“I could say the same about you,” he answers, flicks a glance at Kisame to find him still and wary, a predator’s sharp gaze trained on Kagami. “I—everyone thought Madara killed you.”

Kagami's eyes slide past him, towards the heavy marble sarcophagus, and he winces faintly. “No,” he says, an attempt at steadiness that doesn’t quite work. “I'm fine, but those two women woke me up and won't let me out of here.”

“Women?” Kisame asks, suddenly alert, and Obito feels a jolt of the same. If it was the Senju, _that_ could be why they're down here. “One redhead, one dark-haired? A vampire and a witch?”

“That’s them.” Kagami tries for a smile. “They said Madara put spells on me, made me into a keystone for his wards.”

Something cold and quiet slides through Obito's veins, even as his breath catches in his throat. Keystones are the center-point of any laid ward; if they're moved, the ward will move as well. And last Obito heard, Madara's wards were still up, to the point where people could only get through if they were invited.

“We’re in Madara's court,” he realizes, and feels a flicker of something that might be terror.

“Under it,” Kagami confirms, and reaches out for him again, only to be stopped by the barrier. “Obito, what the hell happened to you? Those scars, and your eye—”

“What do you _think_ happened to me?” Obito spits, and takes a step back even though there's no way for Kagami to reach him. “You saying something was never going to _stop_ him, idiot. You should have just minded your own fucking business—”

“That’s not how it works in a clan.” Kagami gives him a tired smile, and doesn’t drop his hand. “He’s our leader, not our god. Of course I was going to speak up.” With a faintly rueful grimace, he shrugs and adds, “Not that it apparently helped much. He let you out?”

Obito doesn’t answer, _can't_ , but Kisame huffs something that’s only distantly related to a laugh and bares sharp teeth. “Six months later. Kid, are we getting him out?”

“Don’t call me _kid_ , I'm old enough to have eaten your mother,” Obito retorts, and eyes Kagami warily. “You know why they stuck you in that barrier, right?”

“So I didn’t go crazy because of Madara's influence and then try to kill them,” Kagami says dryly. “Yeah, I got that part. Even if the witch kept throwing modern references at me, which is _rude_.”

Obito blinks and frowns a little, because Mito didn’t seem the type. Then again, all of Obito's interaction with her was in Madara's court, and that was probably an elaborate act to get Madara to allow them in.

“The women who grabbed you took someone I need to get back,” he says, holding Kagami's eyes. Kagami was one of Madara's first Children, before even Fugaku; with his help, _maybe_ they’ll stand a chance against the Senju. “Up for it?”

Kagami smiles, cheerful and a little wicked, though there's heavy relief in his expression as well. “For a little mayhem? Always.”

Well, at least there's that. Obito breathes out, tries to think how this will change things. Too many ways to count, probably, but he has to _try_. They're rushing in blindly, but Obito's always been at least decent at planning on the go. “Okay, out it is.” Another quick glance around is enough to find the eye-shaped rune carved into the stone at one point of the barrier, and Obito crouches down next to it, assessing. It’s just chalk, though, entirely standard, and he passes a hand over it with a breath of relief. The barrier flickers and dies away, and Kagami takes a step up—

And is yanked back, the chains around his wrists still entirely present.

Obito swallows, eyeing the thick lengths of metal. There are a few too many bad memories attached, being in Madara's court and seeing those, and with that in mind, with a clear view of the runes.

“Madara made those,” Obito says, and ignores Kisame's sharp sound of warning as he drops down into the makeshift cell and crosses to Kagami’s side. The man grimaces, holding out his wrists, and Obito follows the length of the chains back to a rough chunk of what looks like obsidian, jagged-edged and so dark it seems to absorb the light. Thin golden lines sketch out more runes, rough and almost menacing, and Obito has steel himself to keep from stepping back at the sight of them.

“I didn’t realize,” Kagami says, tone sliding towards grim. “I thought they were a part of the barrier.”

It takes effort for Obito not to roll his eye, because Kagami is _definitely_ one of Madara's—there seems to be a universal belief that if it’s not Uchiha magic it’s not worth knowing about, and it drives Obito up the wall. The first six months he was with Madara was a steady stream of mockery for not being able to conjure fire, but once he did—

Well. _Madara_ certainly hadn’t been pleased.

“Kisame?” Obito asks, eyeing the chains, the stone, risking a glance back at the sarcophagus. “What are the chances that you can break these without frying yourself?”

Kisame chuckles, coming down the stairs to join him. “Probably pretty good,” he says cheerfully, though his smile has an edge of teeth. “Madara can't spell me, so if this is his magic I’ll be fine.”

Kagami makes a sound of relief, shifting back towards the wall to give him room. “Fuck but I'm happy you wandered in here,” he says, and tries for another smile at Obito. “Lifesavers.”

For a moment Obito debates telling him that it was a complete accident, but decides that can stay between himself and Kisame. He smiles back, only a little forced, and then glances at Kisame as the man picks up one of the chains in both hands.

“There might be a lightshow,” he warns, half a second before muscles cord, and he makes a sharp sound of effort. Obito catches the scream of straining metal and grabs Kagami as he ducks, pulling the older vampire down with him. There's a massive crack, a wash of blood-red light edged with pale gold, and Kisame hisses, recoiling. Immediately, Obito abandons Kagami, lunging to catch his friend.

“That thing bites back,” Kisame says around a chuckle, lifting his hands. The skin is dark and blistering, but even as Obito watches the burns fade, dead skin falling away to be replaced by new.

“Why do I get the feeling that would have killed anyone else?” Obito says, feeling a little breathless with delayed panic, but he helps heave Kisame back onto his feet.

Kisame laughs, but doesn’t try to convince him otherwise. “I think—”

Footsteps. Deliberate, steady footsteps across the stone, and Obito spins, heartbeat suddenly catapulted into his throat. He takes three involuntary steps back, can't force himself to stand and face this man in particular, of all those he’s met.

Danzō looks him over, the cold, analytical stare of a man assessing a vaguely interesting specimen. “You,” he says, eye tracing across Obito's scars. “Madara's been looking for you.”

A hand closes around Obito's shoulder, and Kagami drags Obito behind him even as he takes a step back and away. “Sorcerer,” he says, and it’s closer to a warning than it is a greeting.

Fuck, but Obito can't do this. Danzō, even more than Madara, is Obito's nightmares given form, and made even more terrifying by lack of exposure. Madara Obito can deal with, because for all the terror Obito has felt in his presence Obito knows that he likes trashy sci-fi novels and hogs the blankets; Danzō is just a wraith made of pain and terror, and Obito can hardly even _look_ at him.

Danzō flicks a dismissive glance at Kagami, then looks back at Obito like the other vampire is entirely inconsequential. “Come with me without fussing and I’ll spare your friends,” he offers. “I'm not an unreasonable man, Obito.”

Obito forces himself to take a breath, to loosen his grip on Kagami's arm where he’s digging bruises into pale skin. “Not in a thousand fucking years,” he spits, and is amazed he can even manage that much.

The slant of Danzō’s mouth turns dissatisfied, displeased. “How short-sighted of you. Perhaps with you to occupy his attention, Madara will lose interest in your Hunter friend. Are you so selfish that you won't help him?”

It feels like Obito's heart drops straight out of his chest, and only Kagami's hand on his shoulder keeps him upright. “ _What_?” he demands, and the word cracks in his throat.

A flicker of victory crosses Danzō’s face, and he inclines his head. “The Deathless’s son, wasn’t he?” he asks mildly, though his dark eye is fixed on Obito. “He’s managed to hold out for almost an hour already. Won't you spare him more torment?”

Obito's nails are cutting into his palm, his fists are curled so tight. He takes one ragged breath, then another, and wonders how he ever could have thought that Kakashi being with the Senju was a terrible fate. Clearly, _clearly_ , Madara having him is worst of all.

He thinks of six months with Madara, as Madara and Danzō _remade_ him. Thinks about the terror he felt just the other day, trapped in that lab with Madara again. He can't—he can't _do_ that again. He won't be anything close to sane when he comes out, and every last bit that makes him who he is will be _gone_.

But Madara has Kakashi, and nothing inside of Obito can let something like that happen to the man who tried so hard to save him, no matter what the cost is.

He takes a ragged breath, forces himself to lift his head and meet Danzō’s cold gaze. “Your _word_ that Kakashi goes free,” he says, over the sound of furious denial Kisame makes. Kagami’s hand goes painfully tight around his bicep, but Obito shakes him off, steps around him and then two paces towards Danzō, not allowing himself to falter. “And you leave Kisame and Kagami alone. Swear to it and I’ll come with you.”

“Done,” Danzō says so easily that he clearly planned to agree from the beginning. “The Hunter was only ever intended as a lure. Once Madara has you back, there will be no use for him.”

Obito knows _exactly_ what that means to Madara. “But you’ll make sure Madara doesn’t kill him,” he challenges. “It’s on _you_ to get him out of the nest safely, swear it.”

Danzō inclines his head, clasping his hands on the handle of his cane. “My word, sworn on my magic, your Hunter friend will be set outside the court unharmed,” he says, as smooth as a snake, and then holds out a hand. “Well, child?”

Obito swallows, forces himself to take another shaking breath, and nods.

“No,” Kisame says sharply. “There's another way. Don’t do this.”

“There's no other way,” Danzō counters, perfectly level and even. “If you want your Hunter safe, if you want me to rein Madara in, this is the price, Obito.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Obito has spent fifty years practically spitting in Madara's face at every opportunity. Maybe it’s the fact that somewhere under all the trauma and the fear and the hate, he’s still the scrappy, angry boy who grew up alone and never let the world tell him how he should act or what he should be. Maybe it’s the fact that Kisame's blood is still thundering in his veins, potent and sharp.

Maybe it’s the fact that Obito's bare feet are warm against the stone, and something vast and _green_ is trembling right out of reach.

Whatever the reason, he turns, meets Kisame's furious gaze, and holds his eyes. “It’s fine,” he says, and every word is a lie. “Madara loves me, he won't hurt me. I've just made him worry, that’s all.”

Kisame growls, low and angry, but he doesn’t move, and when Kagami takes a step forward he catches the other vampire by the arm. He returns Obito's look, then bobs his head in silent acknowledgement.

Danzō hums, faintly pleased. “I’m glad you’ve seen sense, Obito,” he says, so falsely paternal it makes Obito's skin crawl. He’s still offering a hand, and he twitches his fingers in an impatient beckon, watching Obito expectantly.

There's nothing in the world Obito wants less than to cross the floor and take that hand, except Kakashi in Madara's grasp. He steels himself, closes his eye for a long moment and then takes a step, another, a third. He walks across the stone, takes Danzō’s hand and allows himself to be pulled close as Danzō tucks his hand into the crook of his arm, like he’s escorting Obito somewhere other than a torture chamber right out of Obito's very worst nightmares.

“Good boy,” he says, faintly condescending, and his hand is dry and papery when he lays it over Obito's fingers. His other is still curled around the head of his cane, and he taps it three times on the stone in front of them as his eye narrows in concentration. The air shimmers red for a moment, then parts in a long, slow rip, just wide enough for them to pass.

“I certainly hope you can find your own way out,” Danzō says over his shoulder, casting a glance at Kisame and Kagami. “Though if you got in, I would assume you can also get out.” A wave of his hand has the broken chain springing back together, links twisting until there's no sign they were ever broken, and he favors Obito with a smile that doesn’t touch any part of his face beyond the harsh line of his mouth.

“We shouldn’t keep your Sire waiting,” he says, and it’s as silky as a threat.

Obito grits his teeth, but when Danzō steps through the portal he does as well, and he doesn’t look back.

 

 

“What can you see?” Mito asks. It’s not quite a demand, but the hand on Aoba's elbow definitely isn’t budging.

“Light,” Aoba complains, squinting against the brilliance of the barriers in front of him. Three of them, unless he misses his guess, each one a different color and texture. They're overlapping, layered one after the other into a tight mesh of power, and looking at them all together is a little like trying to pick out sunspots on the surface of the sun.

Tōka makes a sound of quiet amusement. “Easy, Mito,” she chides, and pats Aoba on the head. “Descriptions, witch-child. Mito will deal with the breaking, she just needs to know what to hit.”

“The brute force approach?” a young man with hair that’s half white and half black says, sounding less than thrilled about it. He shifts out of the way as Mito steers Aoba over, though, retreating to stand next to a heavy metal casket that’s lying between two trees. Aoba only has time for a quick glance at it, but that’s more than long enough to see the thick, sullen layer of magic lying over it, flaking off at the edges but still mostly intact. There's been a small section near the center pried away, like someone is trying to make a keyhole.

“Itama, if this doesn’t work, you're welcome to go back to picking the lock,” Tōka tells him, “but with someone who has the Sight, I think Mito can manage.”

“Of course I can.” Thankfully, Mito sounds amused more than offended. “Hunter?”

Aoba thinks about protesting that he has a name, but…there are a hell of a lot of reasons not to hand over his full name to a woman as powerful as Mito. He swallows the impulse, ending closer to the barrier, and offers, “Three layers, outmost is blood-red, second is gold, third is…probably green?”

There's a pause, and then Tōka makes a sound of pure offense, tipping the sunglasses she stole from Aoba down to glare at the barrier over their tops. “ _What_? That bastard is using Hashirama’s original barrier to _keep us out_?”

“I told you he’s a hack,” Itama mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mito isn’t listening to either of them, though. With a faint frown, more contemplation than anger, she reaches out, tracing her fingers just above the crackle of magic. “It makes sense. A barrier that strong is hard to break, but repurposing it was likely easy enough. He just used it as a base. But that means, if I can unweave them, we’ll be able to regain control.”

She’s talking about _unweaving spells_ , one of the hardest forms of magic in existence, like it’s _easy_ , Aoba thinks faintly. Gods above and below. He is _not_ in the right company here. Give him the Hunters any day; even Minato isn’t as scary as Mito Uzumaki.

“Something black looks like it’s tying them together,” he offers, because the faster he gets done here the faster her can get back to Gai, Kisame, and Kakashi. “Stitches, or something. Like that one stone, uh…”

“Obsidian,” Itama says quietly, and unfolds his arms. “Madara reused our keystone, too, but he must be using _something_ to power it and repair the damage as it’s done. The original spell didn’t do that.”

And then, even as he says the words, the red layer flickers and goes out.

“The top layer—” Aoba starts, but Mito is already moving, blue-white light gathering in her palms. Aoba lunges away, ducking down and covering his face with his arms, and an instant later there's an explosion of light. He can feel it wash over him, harsh and stinging, but then a solid body is planted right in front of him, blocking the worst of it. Tōka, Aoba thinks, entirely startled, but another wash of magic keeps him from checking. Mito's power feels like electricity, like rage, sharp-edged and biting, and it rises up, devouring—

The red barrier flickers back into place, and Mito cries out as she recoils.


	29. The fallen snow of petals where the breeze

“Mito!” Tōka calls, and in a fraction of a heartbeat she’s at the other woman’s side, catching her before she can fall.

Fingers curling around Tōka’s shoulder, Mito levers herself back to her feet, a sound that’s equal parts anger and pain wrenched from her throat. “ _Almost_ ,” she hisses. “I almost had it!”

Itama steps closer, lifting a hand as if he’s trying to feel the heat from a fire. “Someone must be trying to break it from inside,” he says, and there's hope in his voice. “Do you think it’s Tobirama?”

“If it were Tobirama, it would already be broken,” a man’s voice says, fond and amused, and Hashirama Senju steps out of the shadows of the trees. He casts a friendly smile at Aoba, which is somehow far more unnerving than being ignored entirely, and pauses as he places a hand on Mito's shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says firmly, and gently bats his hand away. “But if whoever is doing this broke through once, I'm sure they’ll try it again. I just need to be ready.”

“You will be,” Hashirama assures her, then steps back. “Itama?”

The younger vampire smiles back at him. “Almost. I just have one layer of spells to get through, but I want to be ready to heal him as soon as I open the casket. I’ll need someone to stand guard.”

“Tōka will be here,” Hashirama says, steady and certain. “How long?”

“Once I get the casket open?” Itama tips his head thoughtfully. “Maybe ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.”

Hashirama’s expression settles into something determined and steady, entirely unwavering. “I can hold Madara for that long, no matter what power he has.”

Suddenly, Aoba thinks, that casket is looking a hell of a lot more threatening. “Who are you trying to save that’s locked in a _coffin_?” he demands.

Itama laughs, bright and warm, like this is all good fun. “It’s Izuna, Madara's little brother,” he says, smiling at Aoba. “He and Tobirama got into a fight about seventy years ago, and Tobirama wounded him badly enough that the only way Madara knew to save him was putting him in a magical sleep. I can fix him, but Madara will know as soon as I open the casket, and I don’t think he’ll take it well. He’s hated the Senju ever since the fight.”

Both surprising and not, Aoba thinks, a little faintly. “A cure,” he says out loud, before he can stop himself, because that’s one more piece falling into place. Almost seventy years, and factoring in ten to make and execute a plan, and another ten for Obito to get to something approaching legal age, when he wouldn’t be missed—

Gods, whatever Madara did to Obito, he must have been trying to find a way to fix his brother.

“Well, yes,” Itama answers, sounding politely confused. “More or less. Last time, Madara let us think Izuna had died, so we didn’t know to heal him. He’s the best one to stop Madara from starting a war, though, so we just…borrowed him for a bit.”

And Madara is going to slaughter them all for it, Aoba thinks with a wince. Lovely.

But—he has no idea what these people know. No idea beyond the mess with Madara fifty years ago, and the little bits of information they’ve deigned to drop around him. Probably best to keep him mouth firmly shut and just do what they ask, but…

Hashirama tried to seal Obito, when they met just yesterday. They went looking for Obito, had plans for him. What are the chances they don’t know about his connection to whatever Madara is doing?

“Madara's consort,” he manages to get out, and feels four pairs of eyes suddenly fixed on him. “You—do you know about him? About how he’s connected?”

There's a pause as Tōka and Mito trade glances, and Itama looks at Hashirama. Hashirama doesn’t allow his gaze to waver from Aoba's, though, stands straight and steady in the darkness. He glows green to Aoba's eyes, not star-like, but more subtle. Deeper and warmer, with a sense that Aoba can only translate as putting your feet on warm ground after night has fallen and the air is cool. There's a feeling of something greater looming just out of reach of the immediate senses, and Aoba has faced down ghouls and demons and cannibalistic witches, but somehow Hashirama, with his kind smile and wise eyes, is more intimidating than all of them put together.

“Madara has been taking his power,” Hashirama says, and something like regret flickers across his features. “And somehow, the child has mine as well. Madara bit me, when we fought, and with a sample of my blood and flesh he must have done something to his consort. Though beyond hoping for a weapon—” He stops short, eyes widening, and looks Aoba over more closely. “A cure,” he repeats, like it’s a revelation.

Not stupid, this one, Aoba reminds himself wryly. Though, of course, a vampire likely doesn’t get to be that old and that powerful without a decent amount of intelligence. He offers Hashirama a shrug as he pushes himself to his feet, dusting off his pants, and says, “The Senju tend to be strong healers, right? If Madara was trying to recreate that, it makes sense he’d test it before immediately using it on his brother.”

Hashirama is silent for a long moment, considering, and then turns to Itama. “When we found the consort in the nest,” he says, “what sense did you get from him?”

With a faint frown, Itama tips his head. “Pain,” he offers. “And fear. But he had that broken wrist, and I thought—”

“Nothing else?” Hashirama prompts, and there's a strange sort of animation bleeding into his features, intensity and something that’s almost fierce in its humor. “You were so close to him, and I know it was a confusing situation, Itama, but—”

“Hashirama?” Tōka asks pointedly. She folds her arms over her chest, pinning the other vampire with a sharp stare. “Care to share, boardbrain?”

Hashirama laughs a little at the insult, turning to give her a bright smile. “Madara must have chosen him specifically,” he says. “He was so possessive, don’t you remember? We were never in a room alone with the boy. But in the hall—there were no strangers there.”

Aoba has absolutely no idea what that is supposed to mean, but Tōka jerks back a step like she’s been hit, Aoba's sunglasses almost slipping off her nose. “ _What_ ,” she says, only to hold up a hand before Hashirama can repeat himself. “No, no, I heard you, just— _what_? How in the nine hells did _Madara_ find another piece of the bloodline?”

“He _must_ have,” Hashirama insists. “We’ve been seeing everything that happened as a result of Izuna's sleep, but—if that was only the catalyst, and everything stems from another source—”

“Wait, hang on, I'm confused,” Aoba protests. “Bloodline? Catalyst? Strangers? What that hell are we talking about here?”

Tōka laughs incredulously. “Our bloodline,” she says. “The Uchiha are all touched by Seelie Court blood, and the Senju are touched by a nature spirit’s. I'm from one branch, and Hashirama is from another. Itama and Kawarama are from a third. We thought that was all there was to find, but Madara must have gone looking for another. He must have found someone who married both bloodlines, in the hope that they could heal Izuna.”

“Perhaps _married_ isn’t the best word here,” Itama says a little wryly, though he looks mostly thoughtful as he taps his fingers against the top of the casket. Aoba can't help but wonder if he has any idea at all how creepy that image is, a boy dressed like some kind of punk student leaning against an ornate coffin traced with dark sigils. Of course, Aoba gets an extra dose of creepy, with is eyes—Itama's aura is half pure gold and half unrelieved black, jarring in contrast.

Hashirama makes a rueful noise of agreement, turning back to the barrier. He takes a breath, gaze sweeping over it, and then shakes his head. “This is important, but stopping Madara completely takes priority. Mito?”

The sorceress grimaces, but inclines her head, pushing out of Tōka’s grasp and facing the barrier. “I’ll do as much as I can,” she says. “But this is built on a base of _your_ magic, Hashirama. If you want me to break something like that, it will take time.”

“Time we’re not really going to have,” a cheerful voice says, and another vampire drops out of the tree and lands right next to Aoba, who startles so hard he can almost feel his heart leave his body. With a yelp, he catches himself on the trunk and ducks out of the way, automatically grabbing for his wire, but the newcomer just laughs, rocking back on his heels. There's a rustle, a few heavy steps, and then another vampire stumbles out of the undergrowth, looking winded. While the first is probably Senju, the second is unmistakably Uchiha, but he doesn’t protest when the Senju grabs his sleeve and drags him forward into the group.

“Kawarama,” Hashirama says with a smile. “Did you find something?”

“Maybe?” Kawarama tilts his head like he’s thinking about it. “Mito and Tōka made a peace treaty, right? We can't attack the Hunters?”

Abruptly Aoba's heart is tripping over itself, thundering in his chest. He takes a step forward, not sure if he wants to grab Kawarama—stupid, _so_ stupid, and maybe Kakashi has a point about his immediate instincts being the exact opposite of what he should actually do—or just throw himself bodily into his path. Which…also probably wouldn’t work out exceptionally well, given that the youngest of the Senju is just as dangerous as the rest of them.

“We had a _deal_!” he snaps, and suddenly Tōka is next to him, though he didn’t even see her start to move.

“Calm down, bird boy,” she tells him, curling a hand over his shoulder as if _that_ is going to make him any more likely to calm down. “No one’s attacking anyone.”

“Well, they might attack _us_ ,” the Uchiha mutters. He pulls most of his hair up into a short ponytail, grimacing a little as he pulls twigs and leaves from it, and then blanches when he realizes that the rest of the Senju are staring at him. “I—they just got to the edge of the woods. Minato Namikaze is there, and the Deathless and his wolf. They have Shisui with them.”

“Shisui?” Itama asks curiously.

The Uchiha grimaces. “Madara's most recent Child. He just turned him a year ago.”

Hostage, probably, Aoba assesses. But—the fact that Minato and Orochimaru are here together isn’t good; they have a strained relationship at the best of times, and just about the only time they ever agree on _anything_ is when Kakashi is being particularly self-destructive and stupid.

Aoba has a rather terrible feeling about this.

“We need to get the barrier down _now_ ,” he says, even as his skin prickles in a eerie wash all up and down his spine. “Like, _yesterday_ kinds of now.”

Mito stares at him for one unnerving heartbeat, full attention brought to bear, and Aoba can't help but think that it feels a little like having a hurricane turn and look at him—something too vast for comprehension, wild and unbound, and Aoba is tiny and fragile and helpless in front of it.

But then the feeling is gone and Mito is turning away, sparks of blue-white lightning crawling up her body and swirling her sundress around her legs. A breath and then the wind is picking up as well, sweeping down from the mountain to moan through the trees. It tangles in red hair, pulling it free from its buns, but Mito hardly seems to notice. She raises her hands, and blue-white light is shading across her face, gathering in her eyes. They burn, echoing the color that builds around her hands as she thrusts them out, palms facing the barrier.

“Witch-child,” she says, and her voice is eerie, overlapping itself in a strange double tone, like two people are speaking through a rush of static. “This is going to hurt both of us, but I need you to tell me where the cracks form.”

Aoba's eyes are already stinging simply from standing this close to her, and just the _thought_ of looking more closely makes something throb in his head. Even so, he grits his teeth and steps right up to the edge, trying to focus.

“Just make it fast,” he says, and doesn’t know whether he means it for their sakes or because taking too long will mean the Hunters find them.

Mito smiles thinly, takes a breath. “Brace yourselves,” she warns, and power crashes down around them with the force of an avalanche.

 

 

“Oh dear. I was hoping for more of a response than this.”

Kakashi takes a ragged breath, doesn’t spit at Madara's feet only because his mouth is too dry to manage it. The smell of scorched flesh is strong in his nose, and his shoulder burns, but it’s ignorable. Everything is, for now, because the only reason Madara has him is because he can't find Obito, and Kakashi is willing to count that as all the victory he needs.

With an amused hum, Madara crouches down in front of him, catching his chin in cold fingers as he tips his head up. Instantly, Kakashi jerks out of his hold, wrenches his head around and snaps at Madara's fingers with all the force of his fury. His teeth catch flesh, tear it in a spill of copper, and Madara snarls. Too quick to follow he wrenches his hand away and slaps Kakashi hard enough to make his ears ring.

It doesn’t matter. Kakashi licks the blood off his lips and laughs roughly, turning to bare his teeth at Madara as the vampire scowls down at him. “This won't work,” he tells him. “It will never work.”

There's a mad sort of anger in Madara's eyes, something sharp-edged and fractured and burning. Even as Kakashi watches he flexes his fingers, torn skin mending itself in a wash of prickling power, and there's a smile curling at his lips. Nothing kind, nothing amused—the expression is all derisive superiority, touched with a bloodlust that Kakashi would normally only associate with a vampire who was half-starved and mad with it.

“I wonder,” he says lightly, and reaches down to grip Kakashi’s hair tightly, wrenching his head back. “If I start leaving pieces of you all over the city, do you think Obito will come running? I do. He’s such a weak, soft thing, with no idea of what he could be.”

The assessment is so blatantly wrong that Kakashi laughs, tipping his head back into Madara's grip and looking him straight in the eye. “Obito is stronger than you can imagine,” he says. “He doesn’t need magic for that.”

Madara scoffs disgustedly, letting go and turning away. “You Hunters and your insistence that might has nothing to do with strength. Such misguided, misbegotten beliefs could only come from a rabble of humans giving themselves airs.”

“You used to be human once,” Kakashi says mildly, and there's no part of him that thinks Madara can be talked around, no part of him that even wants to try, but his hands are chained behind him and there's a lockpick in the sole of his boot that he’s been trying to work out since he woke up. If Madara is talking he’ll be distracted, and Kakashi getting his hands free is the first step to getting out of here. He’s very much not a fan of being used as bait.

With a laugh, Madara reaches out, testing the heat of the fire burning in a heavy brazier. “I was never human, so save your breath. Seelie court blood ran in my veins even when I was mortal.”

Which would explain both the assholery and the penchant for fire, Kakashi thinks with a grimace. He’s sure Hiashi will be thrilled to hear about the familial connection. Though that might make whatever he has going on with Fugaku a little more incestuous, depending on what part of the Court Madara is descended from.

“It’s not the magical blood that made you a monster,” Kakashi agrees, and when Madara narrows his eyes at him he smiles back, spitting blood at Madara's feet. “Just going by your Children.”

Madara makes a sound of amusement, picking up a knife from a table filled with instruments. “You really are the child of a wolf,” he says idly, then holds the blade up to the light. Silver, unless Kakashi’s mistaken, and he’s torn between grim elation at the thought of having a weapon capable of wounding Madara so close and horrified fury at the realization that it’s likely what Madara has used on Obito before. “Perhaps it’s not such a surprise Obito went to you—he always did like dogs. Though after what happened to that rat of a werewolf I would have thought he had learned his lesson.”

Kakashi doesn’t ask what he’s talking about, not about to give Madara the satisfaction. He doesn’t need to, anyway; Obito had mentioned sleeping with a werewolf, and Kakashi is willing to bet that it happened after he was turned. And, of course, that it didn’t go over well with Madara, seeing as _he’s a possessive jackass_ is just about the least of what Obito has said about him.

“Dogs are loyal,” Kakashi points out, keeps his tone even and light even if he wants to snarl. “I can't imagine why he’s want that after fifty years of dealing with you.”

Flash-fire fury sweeps across Madara's face, and in an instant he’s across the room. Kakashi has barely a second to brace himself before a line of burning pain slants across chest. Blood immediately drips from the wound, and Kakashi clenches his teeth around a faint noise of pain, curling forward before he can help himself. He won't give Madara the satisfaction of actually making a sound, though.

A low hiss of disgust, and Madara grabs him by the hair again, hauling him upright. “This would all be over by now if not for you and that _witch_ ,” he snaps. “I had everything prepared—Obito was to come to my room that night, and I would have given him to Danzō. A day with the sorcerer and he would have become the perfect biddable pet, ready to slaughter the Senju and make this city mine. But _you_ interfered! And now every hour Obito is out of my hands, I will make you _bleed_.”

Gods, Kakashi was already glad he’d asked Obito to stay with him, that night in court, but hearing Madara's plans for him is enough to double the feeling. He laughs, rough and victorious, and leans back against the wall, holding Madara's furious stare.

“You're going to have to bleed me dry before I give you _anything_ about Obito,” he promises. “He’s free of you, and I will _never_ do anything to change that.”

For a long moment, Madara just stares at him. Then, slow and wicked, he smiles.

“Obito will _never_ be free of me, pet,” he says, and chucks Kakashi under the chin. “I need him, and more than that, he’s _mine_. The most valuable knight on the chessboard, and soon he’ll be back by my side where he belongs.” A hint of fangs, sharp and deadly, and Madara chuckles. “Once Danzō is finished with him, he won't even recognize you. I think I’ll have him kill you. Drive a knife right through your heart. Maybe I’ll make him bring it to me, still beating.”

The fear in Kakashi’s chest is buried, crushed under the weight of the fury that’s rising. He lunges, teeth snapping for Madara's throat, and ducks Madara's hit even as he pulls up short against the chains holding him. Madara takes three sharp steps back, then stops, and rage flashes over his face. He slams Kakashi back into the stone, and the knife drives deep into the meat of his shoulder. This time Kakashi can't stop the cry of pain that wrenches out of his chest, and he jerks back, tries to get away, but Madara just pushes the knife deeper and twists it. A scream tears from Kakashi’s throat, and he thrashes, only for Madara to drop him with a laugh.

“That knife belongs to my pretty little consort,” he says, over the sound of Kakashi’s ragged, hitching breaths. “You can thank him for it, the next time you see him. It shouldn’t be too long now.”

Kakashi doesn’t bother trying to respond; he’s not entirely certain what will come out if he opens his mouth right now. Maybe laughter, because Madara is walking back to the brazier, and the dagger is still lodged in Kakashi’s shoulder. Madara is likely planning on another round with the branding iron, like the symbol burned into Kakashi’s shoulder isn’t enough already. It’s fine, though. Kakashi got the knife, and that’s what he was aiming for.

 _Obito's_ knife, and the irony makes Kakashi smile just a little, tilting his head back. He’s going to kill Madara with Obito's knife, and then possibly he’ll cut off Madara's head and bring it to him. Cut out his heart, maybe. Rin collects boxes—maybe he can get a nice one from her, deliver Madara's heart to Obito with a smile and a kiss, wrapped up in silk like the world’s prettiest gift.

Either way, he’ll die himself before he lets Madara get his hands on Obito again. Without hesitation, without regret, because Obito going free is everything Kakashi could ever want, no matter what it costs.

 

 

Danzō’s portal opens out in a hallway lit only with a single flickering torch at the far end, and Obito knows, with a vague but strangely certain kind of awareness, that they’ve barely moved at all from where they just were. He looks around, tracing the veins in the rock, and then glances behind them.

“I believe you aimed just a little too low,” Danzō says, sounding amused even as his grip on Obito's arm tightens. “You were trying to reach the Hunter?” When Obito forces himself to nod, Danzō smiles thinly. “The laboratory Madara prepared for me is one level up, and the chamber we left one level down. Practice will improve your ability, I'm sure.”

It’s all too clear a reminder of what Danzō is here for, and Obito has to swallow. He’s a weapon to Madara, before he’s his consort, and soon he won't understand that there's anything else he could ever be. Madara and Danzō are going to turn him into a weapon they can point at the city, and then sit back and watch the destruction.

“Why are _you_ doing this?” he asks, and it scratches at his throat. “Is Madara paying you?”

With a chuckle, Danzō pulls him around, leading him towards the dancing light of the torch. “Paying me? Of course not. But Madara shares my belief in the need for strong leadership, which Konoha has lacked for too long. If my magic can help provide such a glorious future, I’ll lend it gladly.”

Obito grimaces, because there's nothing worse than a true believer. There's absolutely no chance that Danzō is going to keep his word, and Obito _knows_ that, but he doesn’t have a choice. If Madara has Kakashi, Obito needs to get to him. He doesn’t want to test himself against Danzō, not when he has no idea of the man’s skills beyond his ability to brainwash people, and letting Danzō drag him straight to Madara is unspeakably stupid. There's no other option, though, no way that Obito can see to get himself out of this mess. If Madara didn’t have Kakashi, it would be easy enough, but—

He does, and that’s all that matters.

“Obito?” Danzō asks, that condescending, vaguely paternal tone that sets Obito's teeth on edge. It makes Obito glance up, only just realizing that he’s stopped walking, frozen in the middle of the hall. He doesn’t want to go to Madara, doesn’t want to see him, to have to suffer through his touches, his possessiveness, his mockery of affection. Wants to turn and run so badly that he’s nearly shaking with it, even though he’s stronger than he’s ever been when he’s gone against Madara. Not half-starved this time, with no idea of his own power, but—

Old habits are hard to break, and Obito has spent fifty years afraid of Madara.

“Woozy,” Obito manages to get out, hopes the pounding of his heart will hide the lie. “I haven’t—haven’t fed.”

Something like satisfaction bleeds into the slant of Danzō’s mouth, and he pats Obito's wrist. “And still you managed to teleport in through the wards? Impressive, my boy. but not to worry, I'm sure Madara will provide for you. He has missed you so fiercely, you know.”

If Danzō wants to keep laboring under the impression that Obito is convinced Madara loves him, that’s fine with Obito. It will make things easier if Obito can ever scrape a plan together. Not that he has long to do it—there are only so many seconds he can stall, and going up one level from here will take ten minutes at the most. There's no _time_.

In the darkness, in the shifting shadows, there's a flicker of something white and ghostly. The temperature plummets, like Obito just stepped into a pool of ice, and his next breath is a cloud of vapor in the sudden chill. Almost in the same moment that registers, there's a glint of silver reflecting off a sharp edge, a rush of cold air. Obito throws himself backwards, wrenching out of Danzō’s hold, and the sorcerer spins. His cane flashes up, blocking the strike of a shimmering sword, but he’s not fast enough to avoid the skeletal hands that burst out of the wall, latching onto him and dragging him back. They pin him to the stone, and Tobirama Senju steps forward, looming over him. His blade falls to tap lightly against Danzō’s shoulder, more warning than anything, and he smiles, knife-sharp and unamused in the darkness.

“Danzō,” he says flatly. “My old student. How odd that I should come looking for Kagami only to find you, reeking of his magic.”


	30. Scatters the chestnut blossom, or the gleam

The corridor is so cold that Obito’s eyes are burning, but he can't make himself move, can't take so much as a step from where he’s pressed himself up against the far wall. Darker shadows slide through the gloom, and twists of ghostly white flicker and flare around Tobirama’s body like the borealis. Obito can feel the chill of his power, a layer deeper than the simple cold of the air, and it has _teeth_. Not quite heavy, but overwhelming nevertheless, with an edge of menace Obito usually only feels from Madara at his angriest.

“My old teacher,” Danzō says, perfectly still except for the flicker of his eyes. “You were supposed to leave with the rest of the Senju. Did you lose your manners when you lost the city?”

Red eyes narrow, practically glowing in the darkness, and the blade of Tobirama’s sword presses closer to Danzō’s throat. “The only thing I lost was Kagami,” he says evenly, but his expression may as well be carved of ice too. “But you would know. You’ve been leeching his power.”

“I've been fulfilling your vision,” Danzō corrects, holding Tobirama’s gaze without wavering. “Finishing what you started, Tobirama, and following it to its logical conclusion. Both you and Kagami gave up halfway—”

A sharp breath, and that shining silver blade shifts. Danzō recoils into the skeletal hands holding him, a line of crimson opening on his neck, and Tobirama says sharply, “We saw the _danger_. There was a line, Danzō, and Kagami and I recognized it. You, you and Izuna—”

“The die are falling, Tobirama,” Danzō tells him, face still turned away. “The Hunters are stronger than they’ve ever been, and our world more divided. Once the vampire courts ruled, and the rest followed.”

Tobirama’s lips curl back from long, sharp teeth. “Those days have ended, Danzō, and if you think I want them back you're all the more a fool. No more wars. No more slaughter for the sake of power. Tell me where Kagami is, and surrender yourself.”

Danzō’s cane taps the floor, once, twice, again. He turns his head just enough to catch Obito's eye, and says mildly, “Well, child? Aren’t you going to help me?”

Obito stiffens. He should. Danzō is the one who can get him to Madara, who knows where Kakashi is being held. Tobirama is the one who sent Naka after him, as well, tried to have him assassinated and then said _my solution would have worked_ like it wasn’t Obito's _life_ in the balance. But—

But.

“I know where Kagami is,” he say instead of making any move to attack, and sees Tobirama’s shoulders tense. “One level below us, chained to the keystone. Madara made him a part of it somehow.”

Rage flickers across Danzō’s features for half a second before he shuts it away. There's a surge of red magic, sharp and corrosive like acid, and the hands holding him shatter into dust. In the same moment, his cane flashes up, deflecting Tobirama’s sword as it slices for his neck, and he leaps back, putting space between them.

“Are you really—” he starts, but Tobirama surges in, not bothering with words. White vapor whirls at Danzō, clogging his mouth, obscuring his eyes, but red light shatters it with eerie hisses, the cane knocks the sword side, and wind howls down the passage like the first breath of a hurricane, practically slamming Tobirama off his feet. The vampire stumbles, and Danzō raises a hand, flickering with golden light that can't be his own power. It washes over Tobirama, makes him stagger even as he rises to his feet, and his eyes widen. He throws up a hand, the ghostly light sweeping in front of him like a shield, but the gold light slides right through it and breaks it apart.

“I'm very sorry,” Danzō says, a cold light of triumph in his face that chills Obito to the bone, “that you won't be here to see the old glory restored. It’s better this way, though. Madara's hatred for you has only grown, over the years, whereas I have enough respect for you to make your death quick.”

Tobirama growls, low and animalistic, and lunges. The blade of his sword scores a line down Danzō’s side as the sorcerer twists out of the way, makes Danzō hiss in pain, but the golden light redoubles and Tobirama stumbles and falls. He lands on one knee, blade clattering from his grip, and his face is going slack, chest heaving like he can't breathe—

It’s a choice between the man who tried to have Obito killed and Obito's worst nightmare, which means it may as well not be a choice at all.

He raises a hand, calls up the buzzing hum of power that’s swirling like a vortex in the center of his being. Adds strength, as much as he can spare, until it takes on a solid form. _Away_ , he thinks, and puts all his conviction and fear-driven desperation behind the push.

It’s not like teleporting himself, and it’s easier than pulling Kisame and the two dogs along with him. No destination, but Obito doesn’t give a fuck; if Danzō lands in an active volcano the world can only be better for it. He closes his eye, focuses _, feels_ —

A warping spiral of air beneath Danzō’s feet, dragging at his magic like gravity, and his eyes go wide. He hurtles downward, as if he’s being wrenched away by unseen hands, and Obito feels forest on the other side, a dark wood with shadows in the trees, but loses the vision as the spiral fades. He’s breathing like he just ran ten miles, limbs shaking faintly, but he catches himself with a hand on the wall and wills himself not to fall over.

Danzō is gone, and if Obito had the energy to cheer he would be.

He did it, too, Obito realizes, curling his fingers against the stone. He used that ability when he wanted to, for _what_ he wanted to. A second teleport right after the first, and he feels weaker but not _dead_. Like stretching a muscle he’s never used before, and it hurts but it’s _growth_.

It’s his power, not Madara's, and Obito isn’t going to let the bastard take it ever again.

“Impressive,” Tobirama says, pulling himself to his feet and sliding his sword back into its scabbard in one smooth motion. He studies the spot where Danzō disappeared, then turns to regard Obito narrowly. After a long moment, he inclines his head and says, “Thank you.”

It’s not exactly _I'm sorry for sending an assassin after you_ , but really, Obito is willing to take what he can get. Besides, he gets the feeling that coming from an icy bastard like Tobirama, it’s roughly the same thing.

“He’s not dead, just…moved,” he says, not wanting to give Tobirama the wrong idea. “And I don’t know where I sent him.”

Tobirama frowns faintly, but simply nods. “It gives us time to regroup and plan,” he says. “You can take me to Kagami?”

Obito hesitates, but—if he tries another teleport, he’s not going to be able to stand up, let alone rescue Kakashi. And Kakashi is with Madara; there's no way he isn’t being tortured. Obito needs to get to him _now_.

“Kagami's fine, he’s not hurt,” he tells Tobirama. “Find the passage down. There’s someone I need to rescue, too.”

It’s easy enough to see the conflict on Tobirama’s face. He studies Obito for a long moment before glances down the corridor. Then, very deliberately, he turns away, moving up to Obito's side. “Madara is the greatest threat right now. If Kagami isn’t in immediate jeopardy, we should deal with the real danger.”

“The only _real danger_ is everyone suffocating under the weight of Madara's ego,” Obito mutters, mostly to distract from the way his hands are shaking, but Tobirama lets out a snort of genuine amusement. He doesn’t take Obito's arm, doesn’t try to help in any way, and somehow that’s enough of a prompt for Obito to get his feet under himself and stand up straight.

“He has a hostage,” he warns Tobirama. “A Hunter, the Deathless’s son.”

One white brow arches, and Tobirama offers a smirk that’s just as chilling as his power. “Even more reason to see that Madara doesn’t keep him.” His gaze slides over Obito again, and he cocks his head like an interested cat, with just as much buried predator in his gaze. “How good an actor can you be, under the circumstances?”

“For the chance to punch Madara in the teeth? As good as you need me to,” Obito promises. “What are you thinking?”

Tobirama curls a hand around the hilt of his sword. “Hubris,” he says, and smiles thinly. “Whatever powers Madara stole, he hasn’t changed, and neither has his greatest weakness.”

 

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kagami says, with feeling.

The unfamiliar man rumbles an unhappy agreement, staring at the spot where Obito disappeared. Disappeared on the arm of _Kagami's friend_ , who stole his power and stood by while Madara locked him away in a sarcophagus. Yeah, Kagami's thinking that’s one friendship that’s dead and buried. Like Danzō is going to be, the second Kagami gets out of this.

The man takes a breath, turns back to Kagami and gently nudges one of the dogs out of the way as he crouches down by the chains. “If Danzō and Madara have Obito for long, we’re going to be screwed,” he says, and the tone is cheerful but the look in his eyes says _threat_.

“Tell me about it,” Kagami says, grimacing. “Danzō has _my_ magic. I know exactly how he twists minds around, and the last thing I want is them getting Obito with that.”

Casting a glance up at him, the man chuckles a little, then grips the chain between his hands again and warns, “You probably want to look away.”

“Or,” a woman’s familiar voice calls cheerily, “you could let my spell finish and do what it’s supposed to, you know.”

In an instant, the swordsman surges to his feet, sword out, body blocking Kagami completely. And then, just as quickly, he falters, pausing like the sight of the slim, red-headed witch crossing the room surprised him. “Kurama’s vessel,” he says, as if he wasn’t aware that she was the one who pulled Kagami out of his sarcophagus and stuck him in these wards.

Kushina grins, twiddling her fingers at them in greeting. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to interrupt someone else’s working?” she chides.

“I’d say manners are lost on both of them,” Mikoto drawls, stepping out of a shimmer right behind her. She casts a wary look over Kagami and the swordsman, then tells Kushina, “We need to move quickly.”

“What do you think I'm doing?” Kushina retorts, but she’s still grinning. She bounces over to the swordsman, leaning in to peer up at his face, and then laughs. “You! You're the shark, Kisame! It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Kisame says, sounding more than a little bemused. “When he said a witch and a vampire had him, I thought he meant Mito Uzumaki and Tōka Senju.”

Mikoto rolls her eyes. “Mito's currently occupied pulling Madara's barrier down. In ten minutes they’re going to stick Madara's head on a platter, and while I approve of the impulse that’s _my_ seat they’re going to be taking.”

“I don’t suppose any of that translates to letting me out?” Kagami huffs, rattling the chains at her.

“Sure it does!” Kushina says, bouncing right past Kisame to grab Kagami's hands. She pulls them up one at a time, checking the manacles, and then beams up at him, winsome despite the light of mischief in her eyes. “Our little barrier was breaking down the spell and undoing that sleep compulsion Danzō hit you with. You feel less tired now, right?”

Kagami blinks, startled, and glances down at their clasped hands. He’d thought it was just exhaustion that had him sleeping so much before, or the grimness of being a prisoner. But—he really does feel better now, less heavy, more alert. “I—yes,” he says in surprise, and looks up. Sharp purple eyes are watching him, and there's a feel them that’s anything but human, regardless of how Kushina looks. It makes Kagami swallow hard, and he asks a little weakly, “You couldn’t just _tell_ me that?”

That grin has more teeth than it should. “You can't tell people what you don’t know,” she reminds him. “And Danzō’s got that will thing. I didn’t want to risk it.”

Under her fingertips, the manacles dissolve into shimmering golden light, then bleed away, and the weight of them disappears completely. Kagami jerks a little, lifting his wrist, and Kushina laughs and lets him. She dances back, long hair whirling around her, and reaches for Mikoto, who rolls her eyes but hides a smile as she takes Kushina's hands.

“You’ve got good timing,” Kushina says over her shoulder, cheerful enough even if there's a sharp bite lying underneath the words. “Everything seems to be coming together at once, you know?”

Kisame looks at Kagami, frowning faintly, and Kagami has to bite his lip as he considers. Mikoto has a claim to Madara's seat, and moreover she _wants_ it. The Senju probably want Madara deposed so they can come back into the city safely, and Madara—well. Who the hell knows what Madara actually wants, beyond something complicated. Revenge for Izuna, maybe, and the thought makes something curl in Kagami's stomach, uneasy and heavy. 

“The wards will fall in a few minutes without you to hold them up,” Mikoto says, and she turns away, tucking Kushina's arm through her own. “I want Madara dead before the Senju get here, so we’re leaving. The two of you are free to go.”

One of the dogs that accompanied Obito, lean and red, whines softly, sliding out of the shadows to circle around Kisame's feet. Kisame doesn’t move, though Kagami can see his grip on his sword tightening.

“I'm not going anywhere,” the big man says, and it sounds cheerful but there's a promise of violence in his eyes. “Obito went to rescue the Deathless’s son from Madara, so that’s where I'm going, too.”

Kagami is at just the right angle to see how Mikoto's eyes widen, the startled glance she casts at Kushina. For her part Kushina has gone still, feet frozen to the floor for an instant before she turns again, rounding on Kisame. “ _Kakashi_?” she demands. “How did Madara get Kakashi?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kisame tells her. “He did. And Obito went to face him alone. Went with _Danzō_.”

And, hells, that _stings_. Danzō was Kagami's friend once, fifty years and a dozen betrayals ago. Was one of Tobirama’s students, learning magic and all the secrets of their world. But now he’s the reason Obito suffered, the reason Kagami was locked away, and Kagami has to curl his hands into fists and breathe carefully, trying very hard not to think of the scars that trace down Obito's right side, deep and terrible. He must have been hurting for so long, and Kagami was _useless_.

For a long moment, Kushina stares at them, lips tight. Then her expression firms, and she nods once, sharply, and turns on her heel. “This way,” she says, pulling Mikoto towards the door in the wall. “There's a tunnel up to the main entrance, but we need to move quickly.”

The red dog and the Husky surge forward, passing the two women in an instant, but Kisame doesn’t try to call them back. He picks up a long, loping run and follows, and Kagami stumbles a step, regains his balance, and hurries to follow. But—

 _The Senju_ , he thinks, staggering up the inclined passage on legs that are still a touch shaky. The Senju are outside, trying to break through the barrier, but Mikoto and Kushina haven’t told them what's happening, are treating them like an enemy instead. And maybe that’s right, because they're not Uchiha and grudges can last for centuries with vampires, but to Kagami _Senju_ means _Tobirama_ , and there's no one better to face Danzō, regardless of Danzō’s new powers.

It’s a conscious, deliberate choice to turn off the main path as soon as they hit a familiar hall. one level up is the garage and the side entrance, but Kagami knows a shortcut to the outside of the nest. Facing Madara alone didn’t work last time, and Kagami is willing to bet his life that it won't go any better this time, even with Mikoto and Obito and Kisame all there. Madara's had fifty years to grow his strength; unless Kagami finds a way to stack the odds against him, they aren’t going to accomplish anything here, and they can't afford to fail.

He stumbles, thinks of Obito's scars and the tight, hunted look on his face. Catches himself on dark stone and forces his feet to move even faster, because there's _no time_.

Kagami needs to do everything he can to save his clan, and right now this is the best option he has.

 

 

The forest is dark and nearly silent, with no tells to give away what hides beneath the branches, but Orochimaru learned years ago to trust Sakumo as his eyes, regardless of the dangers around them. He curls his fingers into thicker, stronger ones, feels Sakumo squeeze his hand in return even as he pulls Orochimaru through the trees. Each step is sure and steady even in the depthless dark, and Sakumo's grip on him doesn’t waver.

The dead are close here, many hundreds of them, and Orochimaru keeps the chill of them at bay with a thought and a touch of will, a barrier around Sakumo that he won't let them cross. He himself is a wraithlike thing, one foot in the river of the dead where it flows just out of this realm, but Sakumo is something entirely different. He’s warmth and life and forests under the full moon, and Orochimaru will never allow the dead to encroach on him.

“Anything?” Sakumo murmurs, barely loud enough to stir the air.

Orochimaru tips his head, not agreement but consideration. He hasn’t felt Kakashi cross through the river, yet, but he more than anyone knows that there are a thousand ways to court death without actually passing the barrier.

“Not that I’ve felt,” he says, because anything more will be a lie, and Sakumo is the only person on earth he won't lie to.

Sakumo rubs his thumb across Orochimaru’s knuckles, a touch that’s meant to comfort both of them equally. “Almost there,” he says, and Orochimaru doesn’t bother asking what he sees. Enough that he does, and that he’s watching.

“There are more workings ahead than I remember,” he warns Sakumo, because the thrum of magic has strengthened around Madara's nest. Not overwhelmingly, not from here, but it’s still strong enough to notice and Orochimaru doesn’t like that at all. He wouldn’t dream of calling Madara a talented sorcerer of any sort, but he’s old and cunning enough to make up for much of his lack of skill.

In this light he can't see Sakumo's expression, but he can feel the brush of a hand over his arm, the press of a shoulder against his guiding him around an obstacle. Despite everything, there’s a touch of humor in Sakumo's voice when he murmurs, “This is bringing back plenty of memories, isn’t it, lovely?”

Orochimaru lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Monsters in a dark wood?” he asks.

“Doesn’t every fairy tale have that at some point?” Sakumo asks, squeezing Orochimaru’s fingers as he pulls him up and over a fallen tree.

“Ours was less a fairy tale and more a horror story that failed to be,” Orochimaru reminds him, stepping down without fear, and Sakumo catches him around the waist and lifts him down, setting his feet on soft earth.

“Horror stories can be romantic,” Sakumo jokes, but Orochimaru can hear the distracted edge to it, the breath he takes, scenting the air. He pauses as well, trying not to bleed too much power into their surroundings while still feeling out other magics close by, and—

Something _bursts_ right in front of them, jarring and off-center and _warped_ , and Orochimaru doesn’t hesitate, uses his grip on Sakumo to haul him back three long strides even as he throws up a hand. The temperature plummets, but an orb of glowing silver light whirls into existence, just in time to catch on the twisting, deforming section of air between the trees. Even as Orochimaru calls up more power, it spits out a shape in a wash of bloody-red magic, a form in dark robes carrying a cane, surrounded by corrosive strength.

Orochimaru freezes, stunned by the sight of the man, and at his side Sakumo _growls_ , a predator’s sound from the dawn of time that makes even Orochimaru want to step away.

“Danzō,” Sakumo says, a threat more than anything, and steps forward, sideways, puts himself halfway in front of Orochimaru. Not protection, Orochimaru knows—Sakumo is well aware what he can do—but to hide his hands as he casts, and Orochimaru appreciates the advantage. It just—takes a moment. He wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting Danzō, of all people, to have aligned himself with Madara. But there's no other reason for him to be here, so close to the nest, with blood on his throat and the marks of a fight around him.

Danzō staggers to his feet, shaking his head like he’s throwing off the magic that carried him here, and plants his cane on the ground as he turns to face them fully. “Hatake,” he says, almost derisive, and his eyes slide past Sakumo to linger on Orochimaru and narrow. “And Orochimaru. You're far from where you should be.”

“We are _exactly_ where we should be,” Orochimaru disagrees, keeps his tone politely amused even though all he wants is to hiss. In front of him Sakumo is tense, every muscle pulled taut, and the moon-pale magic of him is starting to churn like an incoming tide, drawn out of the air.

Orochimaru can hear the rushing river in his ears, feel the chill of it, hear the songs of the dead in its waters. Danzō won't take it from him again. Not that, and not either else, either.

“You smell like Kakashi,” Sakumo says quietly, just barely above a growl. “And blood.”

Danzō doesn’t try to deny it, though Orochimaru can see the way his fingers tighten around the head of his cane. It takes effort not to immediately reach for the souls around them, send them crashing down on top of him, but Orochimaru curls his hands into fists and waits. He can be patient, when it’s required, and for all that Danzō did to him, he took far more from Sakumo. Sakumo gets first blood in this fight.

 _You smell like Kakashi and blood_ , something whispers in the back of his thoughts, and he lets it slide into the whirling knot of anger that seethes like a storm-tide at the very heart of him.

Danzō’s eyes flicker past Sakumo, slide to Orochimaru instead, and Orochimaru holds his gaze without fear or hesitation, _daring_ the man to try anything when Sakumo is so close. All his long years living and Orochimaru is finally all but invulnerable as long as his lover is beside him, and he’s more than willing to prove Danzō’s failure in the most painful way possible.

“Shall I assume,” he starts, makes it silky, threatening, “that you’ve been the one working with Madara to upset the state of things? How disappointing. I always took you for a man with rather more…vision.”

Danzō’s eyes narrow, just a touch. “Our misconceptions keep getting the better of us, it seems,” he returns, even but edged with malice. “I had thought you were less easily manipulated by a Hunter with a pretty face.” When Sakumo growls, low and rolling, Danzō smirks, gaze sliding back to him. “And you, Hatake. You still haven’t managed to entirely remove your curse, I see.”

Sakumo smiles, teeth inhumanly sharp in the silver light. “Is it really a curse if I've decided to use it for my own benefit?” he asks lightly, and the air around him shivers. The moon is dark tonight, the stars the only points of brilliance high above them, but a ripple of white light slides over Sakumo's skin nevertheless. He steps forward, and the whirling tide around him settles, sinks into his bones as Danzō raises his cane, power crackling out. There's no outright shift, though, even in the face of Danzō’s danger. Ten years ago Orochimaru knows that much control would have been impossible for him, but here and now Orochimaru can't even see the strain of it on him.

Control looks good on Sakumo, but that’s only half the reason Orochimaru catches his hand, pulling him back. Sakumo turns, stepping out of the path of a whirl of old-blood red as Danzō moves, but the sorcerer’s magic slams headlong into a barrier of seething, whirling spirits and vanishes with the crackle of water on heated iron. There's a word, sharp with power and intent, but the spirits of the forest’s dead catch it before it can reach Orochimaru, and Sakumo laughs. They're not half-dead this time, barely able to stand. Strong, instead, and when Orochimaru reaches for the river it pours over him like a flood, stirring the air like an unseen wind.

“Lovely,” Sakumo says, in that certain pitch he always reserves for Orochimaru. Awe, in the way of the old world, reverence mixed with a touch of wonder and the dread of someone who remembers all too well what it means to be mortal.

Orochimaru laughs too, low and rasping and sharp, and _takes_ , pulling power from the air and wrapping it around them. Danzō’s magics are battering at his shield, but inside the two of them might as well be alone in a dark forest with silver light spilling over their limbs.

So many hundreds have died here, victim of the vampire courts and the power jockeying that goes along with it. Even more haunt Danzō, their lives stolen by one man in particular. Orochimaru can feel all of them, watching, waiting, caught in the eddies of the slow-moving river.

It’s the work of a moment to gather up a handful, ghosts with fangs and claws and eyes that burn gold. Werewolves long dead and waiting, the purely animal wolves from the forest that seethe like a tide beneath the rest. They shimmer into existence for just an instant, as white as the moon before they vanish, pulled right into Orochimaru’s grasp.

Sakumo's hands are inhumanly warm in his, burning against the chill of the river’s current, and he doesn’t waver. Orochimaru is caught in the grip of his power, a subtle glow underneath his skin, the burn of frigid air on his lips and spirits swirling through him, but Sakumo still steps closer, ignoring the light of Danzō’s magic for the darkness of Orochimaru’s.

“For me?” he asks, and the witchlight catches his eyes and makes them _burn_.

Orochimaru cups Sakumo's face in his hands, tips his head and kisses him hard, lips bruising, teeth scraping. Sakumo makes a hungry sound against his mouth, drags Orochimaru up against him like he’s going to devour him, and Orochimaru pours the power into him. He feeds Sakumo the strength of a dozen werewolves and even more wolves, stitches them into his veins and wraps them around his heart.

Against his mouth, Sakumo _snarls_. He turns, an arm around Orochimaru’s waist, and in an instant Orochimaru’s back is colliding with a tree, Sakumo pressing him in and kissing him harder, deeper, blood smeared between their mouths and blistering cold colliding with wild heat. The hands at Orochimaru’s waist tighten, fingers digging bruises into his skin, and Orochimaru laughs into Sakumo's mouth, takes the press of him eagerly and just wants _more_.

With a low, rumbling growl, Sakumo tears his mouth away, and the wolf is rising in his eyes, so close to the surface Orochimaru can feel the brush of fur and the smell of autumn leaves. “He’s ours,” he growls, and then he’s gone, so quick that Orochimaru has to catch himself on the tree trunk before he can fall. The barrier shatters as Sakumo passes through it, but Danzō doesn’t have even a moment to take advantage of it. There's a burst of red light, creeping and hungry, but it slides off the ghosts in Sakumo's skin, and Orochimaru tips his head back, laughing softly as flesh tears.

There's blood in the air, and a river of souls in his head. His mouth is kiss-bruised and warm, they're free of the chains that once held them, and with this they’ll never, ever go back.

For Sakumo, for Orochimaru, for Kakashi. This is Danzō’s death, and Orochimaru will see his soul to its torment himself.


End file.
